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222 lines
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<title>The Homestuck Epilogues: Meat - Chapter 7</title>
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<div id='s7'></div>
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<div>
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<h1>Chapter 7</h1>
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<div class="o-story_text o_epilogue type-rg type-sm line-caption line-copy pad-x-0 pad-x-lg pad-b-lg">
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<p class="no-indent"><span class="opener type-hs-opener-rg type-hs-opener-sm">T</span>he boxing
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bell is going off like it’s having a fit. Dirk has to stick a
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finger in one ear to hear what Rose is saying over the cacophony of
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boos and buckets being lobbed toward center stage. He considers it
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all pretty fucking annoying, so he flips off the crowd and jumps
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the ropes. Always a good idea to abscond from the stadium before
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the customary show-end riot hits full swing.</p>
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<p>The last standing robot scoops up Jake’s unconscious body and
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cradles him to its chest before blasting off through the roof.</p>
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<p>On the other end of the phone, Rose lets him know what’s up.</p>
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<div class="chat type-rg type-hs-small">
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<p class="rose">ROSE: It’s not so much “what is up” as “what is
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down,” the answer to which is, proverbially: Me.</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: I mean that both physically and
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philosophically by the way.</p>
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<p class="dirk">DIRK: You’re down philosophically?</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: Yes.</p>
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<p class="dirk">DIRK: I’m not sure what that actually means.</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: What doesn’t it mean, Dirk.</p>
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<p class="dirk">DIRK: Glad to see that my genetic predisposition
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for melodrama is still alive and well in my slime-progeny even
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after all these years.</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: Please don’t interrupt. This is important,
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and I’ll need all the energy I can spare to sustain even a heavily
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monologic transmission of the relevant facts.</p>
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<p class="dirk">DIRK: I see. Forgive my brief, casual interjection
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into the conversation you initiated. Please continue.</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: Thank you.</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: Anyway, the matter at hand is my “condition,”
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with which you’re already familiar.</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: I’ve struggled to devise the right way of
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telling you without causing undue alarm, which would unquestionably
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trigger the overbearing tendency of yours to “solve the problem”
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for me, which is not the kind of circumstance my constitution can
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withstand these days.</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: I can barely lift a wrist to my forehead to
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telegraph my infirmity, of late. Your bullshit is precisely the
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thousand-pound feather that could knock me clean through my
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apartment’s plate glass window.</p>
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<p class="dirk">DIRK: This is troubling to hear, of course. But
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rest assured, I’m taking solace in the fact that your infirmity
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doesn’t seem to have spread to your vocal cords yet.</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: See, Dirk? This is exactly the shit I don’t
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need from you on this day.</p>
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<p class="dirk">DIRK: Sorry.</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: The bottom line is this.</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: I am ascending, and it is terrible.</p>
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</div>
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<p class="no-indent">Rose adjusts her position on the couch with
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the body language of one about to dive into the latest gossip about
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a mutual friend. The mutual in this case: her tortured psyche.</p>
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<div class="chat type-rg type-hs-small">
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<p class="rose">ROSE: Years of refining my Seer of Light powers
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have cursed me with what is approaching near infinite prescience.
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Dwelling in this idyllic post-canon realm has worn down the
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barriers separating my primary consciousness from the memories and
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experiences of all my doomed alternate selves, which were forgotten
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and discarded over the due course of our journey.</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: As I approach the realization of my Ultimate
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Self, I cannot stop the extant knowledge from seeping in. I am
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plagued by near constant visions from the less fortunate versions
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of myself, as well as a broadening view of the metatextual nature
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of our existence.</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: Day by day I get closer to comprehending the
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full picture of the narrative.</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: However, I am still trapped in this limited
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body. There is only so much strain that my very finite synapses can
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take.</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: It drains all of my energy to keep my
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consciousness focused on relevant events, but even then I am losing
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my ability to discern what is and is not canonically relevant, let
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alone what is also true or essential.</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: And all of this is making me incredibly
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fucking sick.</p>
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<p class="dirk">DIRK: Oh. Is that all?</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: ...</p>
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<p class="dirk">DIRK: Well, in the spirit of full disclosure,</p>
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<p class="dirk">DIRK: Same.</p>
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</div>
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<p class="no-indent">Rose is silent on the line for a few moments.
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Dirk can hear how labored her breathing is, how thin it is. She
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snorts out a quick, humorless laugh.</p>
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<div class="chat type-rg type-hs-small">
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<p class="rose">ROSE: Really?</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: That’s the hottest take you can manage?</p>
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<p class="dirk">DIRK: Of course not. They haven’t built the vessel
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yet that can withstand the temperatures of atmospheric entry into
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one of my hotter takes, let alone the hottest.</p>
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<p class="dirk">DIRK: It wasn’t a take. It was an empathetic
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admission toward my pitiable, similarly omniscience-stricken
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offspring.</p>
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<p class="dirk">DIRK: We are suffering from the same condition,
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Rose.</p>
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</div>
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<p class="no-indent">She allows several rare conversational beats
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to pass in silence between them, to process the admission.</p>
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<div class="chat type-rg type-hs-small">
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<p class="rose">ROSE: We are?</p>
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<p class="dirk">DIRK: Sure.</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: It doesn’t sound to me like you’re suffering
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much at all.</p>
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<p class="dirk">DIRK: Well, I’m not.</p>
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<p class="dirk">DIRK: I guess I used the wrong phrase. You are
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suffering from it. I am adapting to it.</p>
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<p class="dirk">DIRK: I already have, really.</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: When were you going to tell me this?</p>
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<p class="dirk">DIRK: When you were ready.</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: So you have determined that I’m ready to
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receive this rather critical piece of information now, of all
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times?</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: What distinguishes the present from the other
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moments you could have mentioned it?</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: Were you waiting for the effects of my
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condition to become so unendurable that I finally felt the need to
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explain what was happening to me in full?</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: Were you, in essence, waiting for a cry for
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help?</p>
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<p class="dirk">DIRK: Wow. Well, when you put it that way, it makes
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me sound like kind of a dick.</p>
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<p class="dirk">DIRK: But I guess it isn’t far from the truth,
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either.</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: Unbelievable.</p>
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<p class="dirk">DIRK: Look, it’s not something you just spring on
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people that frivolously.</p>
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<p class="dirk">DIRK: “Hey folks, just so you know, the boundaries
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of my awareness are coming apart, and now I know almost everything,
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about everyone, everywhere.”</p>
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<p class="dirk">DIRK: “Also, the process should be tearing my body
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apart, but actually I’m handling it quite well. Thanks for the
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concern though.”</p>
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<p class="dirk">DIRK: “Anyway, just thought I’d keep y’all fuckin’
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abreast. On my incomprehensible brain and all. Peace.”</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: Fine. You’re a cagey guy. This isn’t breaking
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news.</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: I’m not pissed at you, I’m just...</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: So confused.</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: Why aren’t you suffering the same effects as
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me?</p>
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<p class="dirk">DIRK: There will be time to explain all this.</p>
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<p class="dirk">DIRK: Despite whatever appearance of callousness
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I’ve maintained in withholding this information from you, I
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actually do have your best interests in mind. I don’t want to wear
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you out on this call.</p>
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<p class="dirk">DIRK: There’s so much more to say, but it can
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wait.</p>
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<p class="dirk">DIRK: For now, I’ll just mention that I’ve been
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alert to your problem for some time, and I’ve been devising a
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solution which should permanently remedy it without compromising
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the boon of your expanding consciousness.</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: You have?</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: What is it?</p>
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<p class="dirk">DIRK: Would love to tell you, but I’ve got some
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work to do. Why don’t you stop by my studio later so we can hash
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this shit out in person.</p>
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<p class="dirk">DIRK: Right now, you should get some rest.</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: Actually, I’m feeling oddly invigorated
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suddenly. I think I’m good for more exposition, if you are.</p>
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<p class="dirk">DIRK: Can’t say I’m surprised. But no.</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: Have I caught you at a bad time?</p>
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<p class="dirk">DIRK: Nah, but there is an election coming up, and
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my work as a political operative is going to be absolutely
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essential for the fate of humanity.</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: I see. Wheels within wheels, I assume?</p>
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<p class="dirk">DIRK: There are always wheels. Wheels are
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everywhere.</p>
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<p class="dirk">DIRK: They aren’t my wheels or yours. The wheels
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don’t have owners or designers, but they do have caretakers.</p>
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<p class="dirk">DIRK: They won’t keep turning on their own without
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someone to grease the mechanism.</p>
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<p class="rose">ROSE: What a burden it must be, to recognize
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oneself as the sole machinist of reality itself.</p>
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<p class="dirk">DIRK: It’s a curse, but somebody’s gotta do it.</p>
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<p class="dirk">DIRK: Save your strength. Come to my studio when
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you’re feeling up to it.</p>
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<p class="dirk">DIRK: Goodbye.</p>
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</div>
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<p class="no-indent">Dirk hangs up without waiting for a reply. He
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cracks his neck and tips down his shades so that he can appreciate
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the full brunt of the sunset: purple and orange, blending
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brilliantly on the horizon.</p>
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<p>She’s right about him, he thinks. While his ecto-daughter views
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herself as having a somewhat deft artistic hand that lends itself
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naturally to a gentle push-and-pull style of influence, Dirk knows
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his methods are mechanical, like those of an engineer. There is
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nothing adaptive or interpretive about his method. Every piece has
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a purpose, a slot, an interlocking mechanism that is functionally
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pointless without the whole.</p>
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<p>Dirk, satisfied with this moment of particularly astute
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self-reflection, rocks back on his heels and launches himself into
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the sky.</p>
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</div>
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</div>
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