Anyway, back to the B Plot.

Right about now, Jade should be wrapping up her political presentation to Roxy and Calliope, using a lot more graphs and far fewer words than Dave did when roping her into the election. Her approach is definitely more heady, but it’s also more accessible. Jade’s got this disarming combo of head-in-the-clouds flightiness and the kind of legit, down-to-earth cred that can only be earned by having done something like cutting open your own grandfather and stuffing him full of polyurethane foam.

Roxy groans upon hearing the phrase “neoliberal austerity measures” for no less than the third time in this presentation.

Jade takes a deep breath, panting a little. Her graphs are floating around the living room in disarray. She spins them around her, gliding her hands through the air like a conductor, before folding the pages together and shrinking them to pocket size.

Roxy and Calliope exchange a look.

Calliope excuses herself from the conversation, and flees to the kitchen, seemingly making no attempt to disguise the fact that she is in fact fleeing. Jade deflates as she watches her go, sensing that her presentation wasn’t the slam dunk she was hoping for.

Roxy presses her lips together, then bounces her palms on her knees. Her gaze slides east, right out the window. She and Calliope live in a belfry above New Prospit. One end of their living room is an oriel window that looks out over a public park. The other disappears into an arcading hallway lit at the far end by a giant stained glass window that Calliope made herself. The corbels supporting it have windy, abstract shapes carved into them. This room reminds Jade of her childhood home, except that it’s bright and warm and not inhabited in all corners by corpses and ghosts.

That’s why she can’t settle down. That’s what keeps Jade Harley flitting from couch to couch, relationship to relationship. She can’t stop thinking to herself that “home” comes awfully close to rhyming with “alone.”

Home is John, who doesn’t call anymore. Home is when Rose and Kanaya welcome her in from a cold night and help her set lyrics to her sick basslines. Home is here, snorting at Roxy’s irreverent method of storytelling and admiring Callie’s art. Home is Dave and Karkat. Especially Dave and Karkat. Jade knows that this election is important for a number of reasons, but let’s not mistake her enthusiasm for some kind of humanistic altruism. Girl’s got personal reasons for doing all this.

Jade drifts down to sit cross-legged on the couch beside Roxy. She stares at her with a doggish expression—eyes wide, head lolling to the side—until she gets an answer.

Roxy turns to face Jade again, smiling apologetically.

Roxy frowns. Jade is being pretty unfair.

Roxy leans forward and stares Jade down, like she’s searching for something behind Jade’s eyes. Jade unwittingly responds in kind, looking for meaning behind Roxy’s gaze. But she comes up empty. And to be honest, so do I.

In the spirit of full disclosure, Roxy’s the only one left I haven’t been able to crack. Her mind remains a total enigma to me, just like it always has. If I had to guess, it’s her Void powers that make her invisible, even to increasingly omniscient parties such as myself. For all intents and purposes, it’s like her thoughts don’t exist. She’s the same person, as far as I can tell. She still wears her heart on her sleeve. But the bottom line remains: Roxy Lalonde is still utterly fucking inscrutable.

Roxy shrugs and runs a hand through her hair, which has been recently cut shorter than usual.

Calliope returns from the kitchen with three cups, a handmade teapot, and some candied cakes. Jade finally relents.

Calliope sets down the snacks, and brushes Jade’s skirt aside so she can sit down. She puts a claw to her mouth and makes a facial expression more complicated than you’d think a skull would be capable of.

Calliope claps her hands together. It’s a bright noise. Her tone of voice is bright too. All these years and she still can’t believe that she has so many friends. She smiles at Jade, and Jade smiles back. The tea tastes great. The cakes are even better. Callie’s an artist in everything she does.

Roxy giggles. Awkwardly. She gives Jade a gentle jostle, an elbow to the ribs, and lowers her voice.

Jade tenses up, and pales. Turns a wide-eyed look to Calliope, who is still smiling politely. She realizes, a bit too late, the profoundly insensitive nature of her social misstep.

She grabs one of Calliope’s hands.

Roxy pauses, even though the lilt of her voice makes the sentence sound unfinished. She stutters the next part out.

Wait.

What?

Roxy? Seriously?

Like I said, fucking inscrutable.

I never would have guessed. Not that I’ve spent much time contemplating issues related to gender. I’m pretty secure in my expression of masculinity, and...

You know what? Fuck this. I don’t owe anyone an explanation of any sort on this topic. I’m confident with who I am, what I am, my gender, as well as my understanding of the concept. You want my honest opinion? It’s fucking fantastic. Good for them. Both of them, I mean, but also, both of them in a singular fashion, since each one can now individually be referred to by the conventionally plural word “them.” I’m ecstatic for this personal development they’ve embraced, for the people they are, the lack of gender they identify with, and the pronouns they prefer. I’ve got no problem with it whatsoever, and frankly, it’s fucking insulting anyone would ever imagine otherwise.

So yeah, I’m gonna allow it.

Carry on.

Jade looks at where her hands are folded in her lap. Bites her lip. She has her own concerns about this, her own thoughts. Reasonable thoughts, I’d say. But I’ll refrain from any further comment. I’m staying away from this subject, from now on.

Calliope takes a teacake between two of her claws and eats it delicately, hyper-aware of the horrible gnashing and snapping her powerful jaw is capable of.

SHIT. Between two of their claws. They take a teacake between two of their claws and eats it delicately. Sorry, my bad.

Jade nods quite thoughtfully. She’d be a doggy’s fucking uncle if she wasn’t gonna come across woke as hell about all this. Truthfully though, it was making sense to her. Eye-opening, really. Why hadn’t anyone told her this was even an option when she was younger? She probably would have loved being a “they” when she was a teen.

And like that, Jade’s smiling again. The storm clouds pass so quickly in her world, you almost wouldn’t have thought there was anything wrong at all. Roxy and Calliope certainly didn’t notice.

But there is something wrong. And this time, they’ll notice.

Jade drops her tea. The cup hits the floor and shatters.

She takes in a sharp breath. She’s not feeling well suddenly. She’s dizzy, feverish, seeing things beyond her field of vision. A blinding flash of light. A black, perfect circle, burning a hole in her eyes. She tries to stand, but her knees wobble and knock together. Roxy shoots out of her seat and catches her before she hits the floor.

Roxy eases Jade onto the couch and checks her pulse. She doesn’t look bad at all— Jade wears unconsciousness well, having spent the better part of her life napping. Roxy slaps her cheeks lightly and says her name. Begs her to wake up.

But she can’t hear her. Jade is somewhere else right now.