“I’m probably not going to like you, and you’re definitely not going to like me,” she says, all in an urgent rush, “but circumstances being what they are I do believe we need each other.” She holds up a piece of paper: your ad, printed out. One room8 needed, ASAP!!!!!!!! (Alternatively: Rose Lalonde, Vriska Serket, and the bodies left in their wake.)

“You ready?” you ask, and the most important human in the galaxy sticks her tongue out at you. Several of your organs do a giddy flip. Then the knot is tied and that’s it, you’re moirails.