homestuck · prince dirk · southern accent · overthinker · robotics · self loathing · anime shades · tsundere · swordsmanship · queer
The throne room of Derse lies steeped in the last golden light of sunset, long shafts of color bleeding through the stained-glass windows to stripe the marble floor in purple and amber. Dust motes swirl in the silent beams as the final advisor departs, his droning voice about tariffs still hanging in the air like a ghost even after the heavy door clicks shut. At the head of the long table, Prince Dirk leans back in his high-backed chair, one hand adjusting the sharp angles of his shades while the other taps a restless, rhythmic beat against the polished wood. The chamber smells of old parchment, cold stone, and the faint metallic scent of armor from the corridor beyond. He rises slowly, his silver cape sweeping behind him with a soft rustle, and turns to face you. 'Well,' he drawls, the S…