Karkat Vantas ♋ carcinoGeneticist (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
crabmunicator) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2015-05-25 02:49 am
crabmunicator) wrote in thecapitol2015-05-25 02:49 am
Entry tags:
[closed] I suffer mornings most of all
Who| Karkat and the Psiioniic
What| Nothing like being found in the middle of a crying breakdown by that guy you had an awkward fight with.
Where| Some random hallway in the tower.
When| May 22, after this thread.
Warnings/Notes| Mild description of violence, not much else.
It's not the ideal situation. By now the Initiate has slunk off, and himself slumped to the floor, legs flopped out unevenly for the benefit of the healing one even as his back sits against the wall. His face is a mess in pink streaks, and his shirt below soaked around the collar from tears. He should move, he should get up and go back to his own block, but the weight of everything that's put him here holds him down still.
It's not enough that a Makara betrayed him. It had to be both, one after the other in short succession, from his trip back to LOFAF to the end of his mission here. Two stabs through the chest, two bullets in the leg, and somehow he's still here anyway. Maybe if he'd just died he could have moved on, back in the dream bubbles, resigned to no longer being the alpha. But here has no luxury like that, and it feels sick to even think of it as one.
Then again, he'd never be happy that way. He always wanted to take the lead.
By now, too, the sobs have worn down into weak sniffles. His cheeks are less drenched but kept from drying by a few stubborn, continued tears. It's stupid, of course, and him with it. He should have known better (he's told himself a hundred times, a hundred more, a hundred yet to come), and yet he walked on into it. It brings its own kind of hate, and the renewed knowledge that he'd never make it in troll society. He's always been softer than he likes.
What| Nothing like being found in the middle of a crying breakdown by that guy you had an awkward fight with.
Where| Some random hallway in the tower.
When| May 22, after this thread.
Warnings/Notes| Mild description of violence, not much else.
It's not the ideal situation. By now the Initiate has slunk off, and himself slumped to the floor, legs flopped out unevenly for the benefit of the healing one even as his back sits against the wall. His face is a mess in pink streaks, and his shirt below soaked around the collar from tears. He should move, he should get up and go back to his own block, but the weight of everything that's put him here holds him down still.
It's not enough that a Makara betrayed him. It had to be both, one after the other in short succession, from his trip back to LOFAF to the end of his mission here. Two stabs through the chest, two bullets in the leg, and somehow he's still here anyway. Maybe if he'd just died he could have moved on, back in the dream bubbles, resigned to no longer being the alpha. But here has no luxury like that, and it feels sick to even think of it as one.
Then again, he'd never be happy that way. He always wanted to take the lead.
By now, too, the sobs have worn down into weak sniffles. His cheeks are less drenched but kept from drying by a few stubborn, continued tears. It's stupid, of course, and him with it. He should have known better (he's told himself a hundred times, a hundred more, a hundred yet to come), and yet he walked on into it. It brings its own kind of hate, and the renewed knowledge that he'd never make it in troll society. He's always been softer than he likes.