==>Karkat: Get up.
You find yourself staring at the wall beside your bed more and more.
You don’t think it’s fascinating; far be it, you think it’s boring as shit. But you really have nothing better to do anymore, since you’ve quickly blown through all of those romcoms you’d been stockpiling since you arrived on this new planet.
You roll over on this human contraption to your other side, cursing the mattress almost violently as your arm digs hard into your side. You really fucking miss your recuperacoon, but the bitch was too much of a pain to bother installing one.
Slowly you stand up, cracking your arms and neck, spitting out a curse at the sharp pains stinging your body.
You yank your chair from its place slid under your desk, flopping down onto the barely cushioned seat and flipping on your computer, watching grumpily as the piece of shit boots up. After it finishes annoying you for the first of many times this day, you open up your Pesterchum window, grimacing as you see some of your old friends are online.
Normally you would refuse to talk to them, but you think it’s time you get over this slump.
Not really. You’re just bored out of your fucking skull and what better entertainment than those dipshits you call “friends?”
You’re seated at your husktop, enjoying a playlist composed entirely of red-scented music. The current song’s bass drop is interrupted by a short jingle from Trollian. One of your friends has just signed in.
Curiously, you sniff at your Trollian window. It was Karkat.
You can’t help but grin as you click his trolltag. Karkat was rarely, if ever, online. That didn’t necessarily mean he was going to reply, but you decide messaging him is worth a shot anyway. You enjoy the rapid clack of keys as you type your greeting.
“K4RK4T?
H3Y NUBS HOW 4R3 YOU F33L1NG? >:]
1TS B33N 4 WH1L3 S1NC3 W3 T4LK3D
1 K1ND OF M1SS OUR B4NT3R”
Any other time, you would have scolded him for ignoring you for so long. This time, however, you choose to spare him. You assume that pestering him about it would only serve to make him feel guilty and force him further into his shell. You could make a crab pun on that. But you don’t.
You sit back in your chair and eagerly hope for a reply.
You groan, your nails digging into your neck as you absently scratch a random as fuck itch. Of course the first person to bother you would be Terezi. Did you really assume it would have been anyone else?
You crack your fingers and inhale deeply through your nose. You suppose that even though you could ignore the shit out of her, it doesn’t mean you should. Or something.
Either way, your fingers hit the keyboard, pounding hard on the keys in a way they haven’t in a long time, hurried and angry, and you honestly marvel for a second at their key-stabbing.
“STOP CALLING ME NUBS YOU FUCKING IDIOT.
I’M JUST FUCKING FINE, IN FACT, BETTER THAN I HAVE BEEN IN MONTHS, IF NOT FUCKING YEARS.
AND YEAH, IT HAS BEEN A PRETTY LONG TIME.”
You hesitated, clawed hands hovering over your husktop’s keyboard. What do you say now? Even despite these near months of seclusion, you never were a social butterfly, even with people you regularly hung around. YOu always felt, well… a little awkward.
“YEAH? SOMEONE HAS TO. CAUSE I SURE AS HELL DON’T.
YOU ALWAYS WERE A CRAZY BITCH. YOU ACTUALLY ENJOYED THAT? COLOR ME UNSURPRISED.”
You leaned back in your chair a moment, finger hovering now over the enter key. Shrugged, you tapped it and sent your response into cyberspace. Like you actually gave a fuck what Terezi responded with.
==>Karkat: Get up.
You find yourself staring at the wall beside your bed more and more.
You don’t think it’s fascinating; far be it, you think it’s boring as shit. But you really have nothing better to do anymore, since you’ve quickly blown through all of those romcoms you’d been stockpiling since you arrived on this new planet.
You roll over on this human contraption to your other side, cursing the mattress almost violently as your arm digs hard into your side. You really fucking miss your recuperacoon, but the bitch was too much of a pain to bother installing one.
Slowly you stand up, cracking your arms and neck, spitting out a curse at the sharp pains stinging your body.
You yank your chair from its place slid under your desk, flopping down onto the barely cushioned seat and flipping on your computer, watching grumpily as the piece of shit boots up. After it finishes annoying you for the first of many times this day, you open up your Pesterchum window, grimacing as you see some of your old friends are online.
Normally you would refuse to talk to them, but you think it’s time you get over this slump.
Not really. You’re just bored out of your fucking skull and what better entertainment than those dipshits you call “friends?”
