thearena | I'm not a gangster tonight

Entry tags:

I'm not a gangster tonight

Who| Dave and Terezi, Dave and Eridan. Closed!
What| Dave meets up with Terezi and then he fights a douchelord
Where| Never 21
When| Late in week one
Warnings/Notes| Language, talk of torture and murder, fighting

Terezi:
There are a lot of people Dave has cause to worry about this week. People had disappeared and reappeared and almost half the tributes had been brought to jail. Who knows how many of them endured torture and branding. Terezi, in particular, was someone worth worrying for. He hadnt found her at the Cornucopia or at any point since and its hard to ignore the twist of worry in his gut he gets from thinking about her. Considering the state he found Rose in, he has every reason to worry for her. He's been keeping a look out since he left the rink, but his mind is on changing shirts when he approaches the store. He enters quietly, scanning for the guy's section and setting his eyes on a pair of familiar horns.

He can barely believe it, so his voice sounds almost breathless when he calls out to her. "Terezi?" He asks like he needs confirmation, jogging up to her and stopping short of her before he loses himself and does something stupid like kiss her. It's hard to process the overwhelming amount of relief he feels knowing she's alive and just seeing someone who probably doesn't want to punch him.

Eridan:
To be perfectly honest, Dave had pretty much forgotten the fight he promised Eridan. It's been a busy few weeks, to be fair. Prison breaks, hide outs and the inevitable captures that follow them can be time consuming. His mind is pretty much choc full of anything but Eridan at this point, especially now that he's found Terezi.

He's left her on one side of the store while he traipses towards the limited but effortlessly stylish men's range in the store. He's still in his damn skating outfit, but at least he has shades. Shades that make it all the easier to stare critically at a shirt that's meant to be comically ugly. He thinks and hopes, at least. Anything has got to be better than what he's wearing, right?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

On the contrary, Dave's been a very central train of thought for Eridan. Even since that almost!fist fight, he's been thinking about the blond far more than he'd like. Perhaps it was the adversity, the challenge, the pompous way Dave dared to be so attractive. Augh.

It isn't that he doesn't know that humans aren't partakers in kismesissitude, either, he just doesn't really care. It's been far too long since he's felt something like this, and the fact that Dave called him out, told him they'd finish it in the arena... it's just really forward, how could he not mean more than a simple duel?

Eridan's since changed from his own shitty outfit, at least. Changing out of his ugly peasant outfit into a tight pair of purple skinny jeans, a white polo, and a blue-plaid scarf. Let's just not mention the shoes.

As luck would have it, while he's in the middle of looking at more things he could possibly wear later, he spots a familiar yellow head, one in which gets his naturally cool blood boiling. He's silent in his approach, and if it weren't for the challenge issued by Dave, Eridan would have half the mind to stab him with his skate's blade. But he abandons it for now, because he wants a fair duel.

So, like a true gentleman with lots of swwag, he snatches at the shirt once he's close enough, attempting to rip it right out of the other boys hands.

"What the hell is this shit? Don't get me wrong, I ain't surprised that this shit appeals to you, but really."

Edited 2014-08-23 02:44 (UTC)

What Dave knows of Eridan isn't quite enough for him to imagine how obsessive he can be. He knows he's a douche, sure. He can tell he's a little desperate from stories, but he doesn't consider the moment they had to be worth an intense amount of thought. Dave had tried to push the memory of it down, honestly. Having two of the coolest Avengers step in and baby sit him had been mortifying enough, now he's got so much more weighing down on him. It's honestly impossible to imagine that anyone would think of him like that when he's clearly a silly boy and too immature for relationships.

He hears Eridan approach when he's close enough for it to be possible, but he assumes it's Terezi and turns to show her the shirt only to have it snatched out of his hands. He looks down at the now empty space with a gormless expression before he takes in Eridan's attire with a raised brow. Everything he suggested is now coming back to the front of his mind and he tenses. He's tired and desperately disinterested in whatever Eridan wants to tell him, he already feels low enough without a whirlwind of human scum and inferior species insults being hurled his way.

But he made his bed, so it's time to lie in it. "Yeah." He answers coldly, too drained to sass the troll like he normally would. "Whatever." He shrugs, turning away from Eridan like he's neither a threat or worth the time it takes to reply.

The shortness of it all strikes Eridan like a bucket of ice-water dumped all over him. It's cold, surprising, and certainly not what he's expecting. He stares at Dave like he's some unimaginable creature as he turns away, and it's almost as if the body language alone is the biggest slander anyone could ever afford him. The shirt in his hands wrinkles into a taunt wad of fabric as Eridan's hands ball into fists, before he just throws the shirt at Dave's head.

"Don't you be so fuckin' short with me. We hawe a date," duel. They have a duel, but it's basically the same thing to Eridan, let's be real. However, that flare of anger dies down (slightly) the instant Eridan thinks of some coy and totally black romantic retort. Something properly challenging, like Dave did to him.

"Oh I get it. I get what this is, you talk a big game, but when it comes down to it, you ain't shit! I'm not surprised, really I ain't. I know your type." He's watching Dave with a smarmy sort of look, one that makes you feel almost filthy to look at, that's how much of a douche this guy is. He's still pretty pissed that he even has to do this, but that's cool, totally fine. The end result will be all the sweeter for the effort, he figures.

"You get a sucker punch off, act tough in front a your cronies, then when it comes down to makin' good on your promise, you're gonna back down like a yellow-bellied coward. You humans are all the same, ain't ya?"

Edited 2014-08-23 05:28 (UTC)

Presently, Dave isn't capable of feeling badly for Eridan. Not that he would generally either, but he'd usually be willing to humor him with some sass and blatant lies about his culture. He's just not feeling it right now. Well, he's not feeling much of anything. He wants to close everything off for a little while, but he's repeatedly being shown that such a thing is beyond the realm of possibility in a place like this.

Dave whips around when the shirt is thrown at him, smacking it down before it can drape over him properly and giving Eridan a Look that can probably penetrate his shades. "Who the fuck said anything about a date?" More words, but it's still fairly cold. He isn't bothering to garnish with quips or insults, he just wants to nip a theory like that in the bud before he accidentally encourages something he doesn't want to. Whoops.

He looks as if he's considering what Eridan is saying. For a moment, at least. In a flash, his hand is reaching forward and grabbing the front of Eridan's shirt. A fist is flying toward his face shortly after, the frustration fueling the thoughtlessness in his movements. He just wants Eridan to shut up, and he knows how he can make him shut up. It's about as logical a thought process as he can offer himself right now.

Eridan's not exactly the champion of empathy himself, so even though he knows shit's been tough for Dave, just by simple observation of the happenings in the capital, he doesn't care. He's going to needle him as he sees fit, try to get a reaction, a rise, anything to satisfy his own selfish need for attention. He wants to be the salt in Dave's wound.

With the deftness of Dave turning and smacking the shirt down, Eridan's surprised, to say the least. His fins perking with alertness, but he grins when Dave tries to deny the date. Figures he'd play it off like that, but Eridan knows he's far more perceptive than the knight gives him credit for.

"Oh please, don't ewen pretend your issued challenge was anythin' bu--" Eridan's cut off, because it's in a flit of a second that Dave's upon him, and he's mentally chastising himself for letting his guard down. Eridan attempts to jolt away from him, trying to escape his grasp - he fails. That hand grips his shirt, trapping him in close confine. Predictably, there's a fist, and even with Eridan trying to bring his arm up to block it, he's not quick enough to fully stop it. He deflects it, slightly, but it still hits his cheek rather powerfully, leaving Eridan writhing, shark teeth clenched, and hissing.

It doesn't take long for Eridan to react, his free hand aiming an upward, ringed punch to Dave's solar plexus. He can feel the rush of adrenaline already, and god is it a wonderful, nostalgic feeling he'll never get sick of.

In Dave's eyes, it would be far more annoying if Eridan were to pity him enough to hold off on the fight. Both because he doesn't want to be coddled by him of all people and because he knows damn well what pity implies with trolls. Ugh. Please god no. If his thoughts were clearer, he might even realise that this is baiting another kind of relationship he isn't interested in. But they aren't. He just thinks Eridan is weird.

Weird. But undeniably good to punch. Trolls are tougher than humans, and he never remembers to adjust for that. His hand hurts as it is from being bitten by Feferi and the punch doesn't help it. He doesn't feel like the blow was satisfactory enough, but he doesn't get a chance to think on it before Eridan is hitting the hard places. It knocks a grunt out of him and he coughs in pain, the bitten hand moving to his chest for a moment. He feels a leg sink under him, so he moves with it. He bends one knee and kicks out his other leg, aiming to hit Eridan hard enough to get his legs buckling under him.

The adrenaline is doing wonders for his bad mood. He can't think about Eponine, about jail or anything. He can just focus on taking this asshole down, losing himself in the motions of a real fight for once.

If Eridan pitied Dave, he wouldn't be handling him this way. Sure, he may have killed the girl he loved, but that scenario was entirely different! He'd attempt to be charming in a whole different way, but it'd be just as awkward, probably more so. Eridan's not very good with the whole pity romance thing.

With his punch hitting, and pretty solidly at that, despite the ache in his knuckles he's feeling pretty good. The hit to his face isn't feeling any better, either, but he can ignore the soreness of his cheek for the victorious strike he's laid on Dave. Strong enough to make the human sink down. Eridan's too caught in being pleased with himself to realize Dave's using his posture to kick at his own legs.

"FUCK!" he barks it out as he feels the leg connect, and his own give out from under him. Luckily - or unluckily - there's a counter display with shirts on it right behind him, and he catches himself on it. With his spine slamming against the edge of it with an audible thud. He hisses, his hands gripping at the edge of the counter as he glares down at Dave. He tears away though, looking at the shirts that're neatly folded right in arms' reach, sure enough he's grabbing them by the handful and tossing them at Dave. It's raining hipster shirts, hallelujah.

Sure, it's not damaging, but with enough shirts unfolding and landing on him, it's enough of a distraction to allow Eridan to get away from Dave's kicking range, and for him to try to find something to arm himself with. A fist fight is cool and all, but he wants something a bit more dignified and brutal. Like, maybe that half bodied mannequin wearing a questionable sweater, sure isn't lethal, but he's not looking to kill Dave.

If Dave hurries, he'll be able to get over there before Eridan's able to get a good hold on the mannequin to brandish it against him.

The fact that the kick does it's job is extremely satisfying. Watching Eridan flounder around does wonders for his ego, as does the sound of that thud. He doesn't waste time approaching him, but the shirts being thrown his way hinder him no matter how much he tries to smack them out of the air before they hit him.

A sweater like that is the last thing you expect to have brandished at you in the heat of battle, but he isn't in the mood to appreciate the humor of it. He pushes himself up on the counter and moves to spring to the floor near Eridan, landing elegantly and moving to get his hands on something sturdy and throwable himself. His eyes fall on display shoes and his hands are quick to grab at them, throwing the projectiles hard and fast in an effort to make Eridan relinquish the oversized weapon.

"You might wanna take that mannequin to dinner first before you feel it up anymore." He quips now that he has his voice back, but there's no mirth or enjoyment in his tone. "You thirsty asshole."

Eridan hears Dave moving, but he doesn't feel as though he can afford to tear his focus away from gathering this mannequin, not if he wants to make use of it, anyway. It isn't until he gets hit hard with a shoe or two (causing him to release the mannequin for the time being), that he growls and looks to Dave, glaring, teeth bared. The accusations and insults are hardly good company to being assaulted with footwear.

"Oh shut up, as if I'd feel it up, you degenerate," he spits it out before turning back to the mannequin, he isn't about to let some painful blows from shoes stop him! So, he yanks the mannequin free from its stand, pivots, and grins at Dave. It's a dangerous sort of expression, certainly one more wicked than happy, the ferocity in his eyes only further the crazed look.

"But I say, it does seem quite taken with you, far be it for me to keep two lowers separate," he remarked with more amusement than he should probably have, and with a swift and powerful throw, the mannequin is being hurled straight at Dave.

The hesitation is apparent in Dave's stance when Eridan bares his teeth at him. He now knows just how painful the bite of a troll who isn't Karkat can be. Feferi didn't get too deep, but he could feel that what she was doing was vanilla on the grand scale of How Hard Can Trolls Bite. If he isn't careful, he might lose another finger, but he digresses.

"I don't feel like the degenerate right now." He observes, his approach careful as he crinkles his nose at the bad line. He hadn't been entirely sure what Eridan intended on doing with the damn thing, so he hardly has time to do anything but brace as it flies at him. He crosses his arms over himself protectively, and he can tell his wrist is going to punish him for it later. For now, he's lurching forward and ripping the arm off the mannequin, dragging it free of the confines of the hideous sweater so he can come running at Eridan.

Dave moves fast, it doesn't take much for him to get up in Eridan's business and he's swinging the arm at Eridan's face as hard as he can. "Need a hand?" He asks dryly. From an outside perspective, this would be a hilarious fight! However, Dave is taking it entirely seriously for the moment. He doesn't know how far Eridan intends to take it, whether he'll go in for the kill or not, he just knows that Eridan is currently the source of all of his frustration. He feels like if he can do this, and do it quickly, he can finally catch a fucking break.

With his mannequin projectile hitting its mark, Eridan swells with joy, even if the most visible evidence of it is that shark-toothed grin. However, he isn't expecting the next part, where Dave wrestles the arm free of the sweater, arming himself. He comes at the sea prince far quicker than he ever anticipated. He has to give Dave one thing: he's fucking swift.

Dave's on him like a viper striking its prey, and the stiff hand of the mannequin makes its mark against the side of Eridan's face. It knocks his glasses clear off of him, and with an audible clack, they tumble somewhere else in the store. Leaving Eridan notably blind for this fight. He curses, squinting at the blob that's clearly Dave, and swings his balled fist wildly at where he thinks the human's head may be.

The manne-slap certainly hurt, more than he expected, but it's hardly debilitating, more embarrassing than anything. Who the hell gets bitch slapped by a mannequin, seriously!

Sadly, Dave isn't quite so fast as he is back home, not without time powers to fuck around with. He isn't the only one who can flash step, but he's worked out how to incorporate it alongside his game granted abilities. Still, it feels good to fight like normal. It's nothing like a strife with Bro, but there's something familiar about the motions of it.

The smack had been wholly satisfying, but he doesn't pause to relish the fact that he's hit a weak point for Eridan. He needs to use it against him while he still can, so it's not hard to dodge the fist as it comes at him. He uses it as a chance to revenge punch Eridan in the solar plexus, following it quickly with a hard shove backward in an attempt to knock him off his feet and onto the ground. He's relishing every hit that lands, but this is primarily self defense and he needs to immobilize the threat that won't stop coming at him.

Gotta be fast and ruthless, gotta be everything Bro trained him to be. Can't focus on petty feelings, can't let this be a cute little grudge match. He needs to make himself as serious as possible, he won't be fucked around with anymore.

He's growling as his fist goes through the air, connecting with nothing at all. He isn't exactly surprised, but there's little he wants to do more than to bash that beautiful face in. Bloody his nose and lip, the putrid red swill he calls blood would just adorn his features in a way that's so disgustingly beautiful. Yet here he's missing, giving Dave an opening he really can't afford to have right now.

The fist feels like a brick as it connects with his chest, knocking the air clean out of him. It all exits so quickly, there's barely even a sound to be heard other than the sound of Dave's knuckles against Eridan's sternum. He's inwardly cursing all the more that his fist missing, and that he's taken far more of the beating than Dave has. It's embarrassing, almost as much as it is painful. Trolls have impressive pain tolerance, but it doesn't change the fact that getting hit in the solar plexus fucking hurts like a bitch.

However, despite that, there's one thought running through his mind like a broken record: he needs to get his glasses.

Before he can react, or even catch his breath, Dave is shoving him. Naturally, he reaches out at Dave, for anything he can grab. Arm, shirt, shoulder, anything to catch himself, and if he snatches something, he plans to grip for dear life. Maybe stabilizing himself, maybe allow himself to find Dave's face with his fist a little easier. Maybe he'll pull Dave down with him.

Either which way it plays out, Eridan isn't about to go down without right.

Maybe he should let Eridan hit him. It's the strangest, faintest feeling niggling in Dave's mind. Just a quiet little voice muttering suggestions. He wants to win this fight, he wants to walk away feeling good about something, but he deserves to be hit at least once. He doesn't consider Eridan to be deserving of dishing out punishments for Dave's past mistakes, but he feels so awful and guilty right now. Thinking about Orc makes him feel sick, makes him want to feel like the universe isn't skewed in Dave's favour just because he didn't die. He's never been the guy for manly sport, but as someone with years of strifing under his belt, he knows that being hit in the face is just a massive shut down. The kind of shut down he deserves.

Granted, he doesn't need to give Eridan much to make that happen. He doesn't need to skew anything in this guy's favour. He knew from the start he'd be a tough customer if only for how much of an unrepentant dick he is. He doesn't know much about trolls or the hemospectrum, but he knows the ones on top are on top for a reason.

Eridan's grabbing earns him a shoulder, and Dave takes the chance to get up in his business. Not too close, but a little closer, so he can make Eridan all the more indignant.

"Can't even land a hit, huh? So much for that superior species bullshit." He's digging his own grave now, but if Eridan can fuck around with him he might as well fuck around with Eridan. As it happens, he's happy to let Eridan try drag him down, because he's confident he can keep the upper hand if he can stay on top. Once it gets to that point, a few hits to prove his point is all it will take. That's all he wants, just a few good hits on Eridan and maybe a smack or two for his own stupid face. He can walk off feeling accomplished and less like an asshole and, as far as he knows, Eridan will learn to back off next time.

The taunting is enough to make the troll shake with fury. Any implication of inadequacy is enough to leave Eridan scowling, but when it's from his opponent, let alone the guy he's harboring a black crush for, it's especially scathing. So when he feels the purchase he's made with his frantic grabbing, he holds on tight. He's able to stabilize himself, despite the mockery and Dave getting so close to him, or maybe in spite of it.

He doesn't want to bring this to the floor so soon, not without laying a proper hit off. With his hold on Dave's shoulder, it makes it a lot easier to aim his fist, but he doesn't, not yet. He can't let that go without some proper retort.

"Oh don't think me goin' easy on you is any fault a my or my species' superiority. Shit's about to get fuckin' real, you red-swill bloated carcass," he nearly purrs the words out, for all they seem to be laced with anger, there's something more behind them, a deeper presence that doesn't quite make sense: fondness.

"Perhaps I didn't want to damage that pretty face a yours too much, but maybe it'll look a bit better with that putrid blood a yours paintin' it." he says it with a sadistic sort of affection to his tone, before his arm reels back, fist clenched tight, just to sail a second later at Dave's face.

Mockery is a consistently solid motivator, particularly with trolls. He berates himself, because he might have been able to end this quickly if he hadn't stopped to taunt. He's conflicted by wanting to end this early and wanting to enjoy this for as long as possible. Maybe enjoy isn't the right word, but he wants to immerse himself in the fight and just think about the flow of it. Much better than thinking about things like feelings, especially since he doesn't know Eridan is having some of his own.

Dave rolls his eyes when Eridan purrs out his smug threats, though something about the tone of it sits funny with him. He just assumes Eridan is coming from a weird, self-loving place when he talks, but it's hard to think on it with a fist flying at you. It's funny how you can think you want something until that something is flying at your face. It's when he really notices those rings, notices what a tool Eridan is for those rings and then really thinks about how much it will fucking hurt when they hit his face.

Which they do, with gusto. He tries to move with the hit so it hurts less, but god that was the wake up call he needed. Something just snaps, a load of frustration just gets too much and the pain and indignity of it is not something he deserves. A harsh laugh escapes his lips and rather than pulling away, he's going to push forward, giving Eridan another hard shove backward. This time he has no commentary, the determination is probably more than apparent.

When his knuckles loudly crack against Dave's face, the prince is left basking in the absolutely satisfaction of it all. It's almost a shame that Dave doesn't quite understand what feelings Eridan is feeling right now, but he figures in due time, Dave might get it eventually.

He's honestly ready to swing at Dave again, but then the older boy is barking out a laugh, which Eridan isn't expecting, but only encourages the seadweller if anything else. Though the suddenness of it does cause him to pause his strike. Perhaps Dave is enjoying this more than Eridan gave him proper credit for. However, that slight halt in his attack leaves him open for that shove.

Not expecting it, it causes Eridan to stumble back--and ungracefully lose his balance, misstep, and lastly fall on his ass. It's pretty unceremonious and embarrassing, and he's left cursing at himself, but not for long. He uses the new position to kick his heel out at Dave's shin, a painful strike if it makes connection.

He's going to do what he can with what he has! But right now it isn't much.

Enjoyment might not quite explain the sensation, but there's a pleasure in it. One he'd probably deny if asked about it, but one he doesn't feel the need to hold back on much in the moment. There's always good feelings abound when you can feel the manly pride of battle or whatever. It's been forfuckingever since he had a good fight and the adrenaline is doing wonders to perk him right the fuck up.

His face stings, but he can't miss the chance to take the advantage Eridan is giving him. The kick strikes and god it fucking hurts, but he uses it to almost fall forward onto Eridan with a thud. He's quick to grab his collar, grimacing down at him with all of that pent up aggravation and frustration apparent in the lines of his face and brows.

"What now, shitlord?" It's almost hissed, almost. He isn't quite a cartoon villain in his hatred for this guy in this moment. He won't mince words long before he's removing one hand from Eridan's shirt and sending a punch to his face. Get him while he's down, don't waste time, get the job done.

Eridan honestly isn't expecting Dave to fall on him like a ton of bricks, but that doesn't exactly stop it from happening. He feels the air get forced outta him via impact, he's left wheezing. Doesn't stop his arms from grabbing at Dave's own arm when he grasps the front of his shirt.

He's honestly nearly panicking right now, because Dave has him in such a compromising situation and his sponge is hard-pressed to find a way out of it. His fingers dig into Dave's wrist as he tries to yank the arm away, but it gets halted in its tracks as Dave's reeled back fist makes good on it's promise and nails Eridan right in the face.

There's a strange sound that leaves him, like a jumble of consonants blended with pain. Perhaps it's more surprise than pain, but either way it's inspiring more of a struggle from Eridan. He's glaring, teeth bared. One of his hands releases Dave's arm, curling into a fist, and attempting to aim a punch at Dave's face.

Even if it hits its mark, the angle makes the hit rather stunted, and will not do nearly as much damage as he'd like it to. But anything, any sort of retaliation at this point is enough for Eridan. He isn't going down without a fight.

Edited 2014-09-21 16:27 (UTC)

The pain of nails digging into his wrist has Dave gritting his teeth, a growl starting somewhere low in his throat that he can't silence. He grips tighter on the shirt just to be stubborn, but the punch neutralizes the pain in his wrist well enough. The sound Eridan makes is satisfying enough to earn Eridan a chuckle, distracting Dave from the fact that Eridan is moving in to punch him.

The damage isn't too severe, but the surprise stings and his head snaps to the side. It reminds him that he needs to end this, and it brings a stray mannequin hand into his line of vision. He reaches a hand backward to grope quickly for it, drawing it back as best he can so he can try to smack that stupid look off his stupid face.

The solidity of his hit is rather dubious, but the fact he hit him at all is enough to ease Eridan.

For a second.

Until Dave grabs a mannequin arm again, and uses it to smack him once more. He growls against the blow, teeth flashing as he lets out what almost sounds like a roar. His legs are kicking, his body squirming, and he's doing everything in his power to break free from the weight of Dave. From the assault he's laying onto him, and it isn't till he notices the coppery taste in his mouth, or something sharp stabbing the inside of his cheek that he realizes the actual damage that smack has done.

That's a tooth. He's knocked a fucking tooth out.

Perhaps it wasn't the hit from the mannequin alone, but it finished the job Dave's fist started. Disgusting. With his gut twisting in mortification, he glares up at Dave, using his tongue to collect the freed fang, before spitting the shark-like tooth - covered in violet blood - right at Dave's face.

Edited 2014-10-13 15:35 (UTC)

Hearing her name has Terezi freezing in place, shoulders going rigid as she turns. But she recognizes that voice, and it doesn't take long for her to answer back with a tentative "Dave?"

She doesn't hold herself in the way that Dave might be used to. There's a slackness to her posture, almost as if she were wilting--or as if some small light has gone out, and she hasn't discovered how to relight it yet.

The tension eases from her shoulders just a little as he jogs over. It really is him, she tells herself. There's not scar on his face either--not like hers, so obviously he wasn't tortured for staging a rescue. That was good. She's not sure how many more injured friends she can handle right now. As soon as Dave is close enough, she goes to hug him around the middle. At least that's one person relatively safe and sound.

To have her alive is better than anything he'd expected or even dared to hope for. He can't pretend to understand what they might have done to her, but he knows what they're capable of. The brands were evidence enough of how ruthlessly cruel they were willing to be, the amount of horror they could inflict on someone like Terezi would be easy. So easy it scares him, like he's making her vulnerable just speaking to her. Like he won't be able to help no matter what he does because he doesn't really understand.

Maybe it's because he's come off from a fight feeling like a naive idiot with no grasp on anything but how to fuck things up, but he can't help but worry if Terezi would be better with someone else. Those feelings fall away fast when she moves in for a hug and he doesn't hesitate again at the prompt. He winds his arms around her top half, arms wrapped around her shoulders and head so he can keep her as close as possible.

"Sorry I'm late." He murmurs against the top of her head, letting himself believe she's safe for the moment and everything is fucking peachy.

Terezi honestly isn't sure what he's apologizing for. It's probably something stupid--like not being there for her rescue. Something she couldn't help but wonder when her moirail and her ashmates came to bust her out. She had hoped that Dave wasn't there--especially after witnessing what happened. To Meulin and Signless... To Kurloz.

The sharp reminder has her clinging tighter to Dave, burying her face against his chest. It hurts, the way that the brand on her cheek rubs against his shirt and the way her bruised limbs ache in protest. But she doesn't seem to care. Nothing hurts as bad as the way that her chest aches for her dead friend.

"You're not late," she mutters back, muffled against his chest. He's here right when she needs him to be.

It is something stupid like that. It's exactly that stupid thing, actually. He knows she wouldn't have wanted him there, he knows Rose wouldn't have wanted it either. Of course, that would never have stopped him from trying. He might not be the proactive hero type, but he'd never stand idly by while his friend and sister suffered.

"Guess I've got too much time on my hands." He says dryly, not missing the way she clings tighter and buries closer. He can do this part, at least, he can be there for her now. His arms wind tighter around her without much prompting, making up for almost a month of separation in one moment. He's never been good at affection, but for Terezi he'll always make an exception.

He needs to take a deep breath in through his nose to calm himself, stop his voice from shaking and anymore vulnerability coming out. Oddly, the sound builds into a nice little quip that he can murmur against her. "I knew I'd smell you later."

Terezi exhales what might be a laugh, but the motion of smiling hurts too much. She does mimic the gesture, inhaling deep through her nose. He smells so very much like Dave, which is exactly how Dave should smell.

"I'm glad you're okay." That's probably his line, but she doesn't seem to care. All she cares about is that he's here, and she doesn't have to grieve him too. She'll allow herself that bit of selfishness. She lifts her head a little, unburying her face from his chest. "What happened in the Capitol? After they... after the arrest."

"I'm glad I am too." Which in his own terms means he's glad they're both okay, but emotions are hard. He's happy to keep his arms around her for the moment, as if letting her go means the Capitol might swoop in and get her back.

"Not a lot, at first. Sollux is here. Feferi is here, but I missed her coming in because I uh. Had some shit to take care of." He knows he can't see it, so he'll just nudge the cuff against her back so she gets the hint. "Someone died in the jailbreak. Orc. Eponine's boyfriend." He does his best to sound aloof about it.

That's a lot to take in. Sollux and Feferi being here. She had no idea that they had brought more trolls in. A sick thought surfaces in her mind--that maybe they're trying to replace the ones they're about to get rid of. But she brushes the thought away, along with any thoughts of Orc being dead. She didn't know the guy, but... She really doesn't want to think about casualties right now.

That cuff is new. She can feel it against her back, and it doesn't take her even a second to know why it's there. "You tried to get Rose out." It's a statement, not a question because she doesn't need to ask if it's true. She knows Dave well enough that he wouldn't leave any of his friends alone in that situation--especially not his sister.

"Is she okay? She was with me in the holding cell, before they moved us to solitary." And that was the last that she really heard of her, save for their one meager mealtime every day. Unsurprisingly, no one was especially talkative by that point.

While the trolls had been important to bring up, the mention of Orc comes entirely from Dave's conscience. The shock of Eponine telling him is still present, so it's like telling someone will make it more or less real. Instead, he just kind of feels awkward for saying it at all. Why would he care? Why would she? It's better if the conversation moves on.

"I got Rose out. For a while, anyway." He doesn't need to mention that he knew people were busting her out, he assumes she knew that. He doesn't know how it went for them but he can only assume it wasn't too bad if she's here.

"She's coping, I guess. I thought I'd give her some space from my yammering, but I got chased off before I could find anyone anyway." He shrugs heavily. "After that I saw Sollux and Feferi then broke off for a bit. Anyway. What have you been up to?"

He got Rose out, he says, and yet they're still in this arena. They must have gotten captured again, like her group had. Her grip tightens a little bit at the thought of losing Dave, but he's smarter than that. The Capitol wouldn't have to deal with him in such a heavy way, not like with Kurloz.

"I don't know," she mutters in answer to his question. She shrugs her shoulders a little, like that might impart any further information on him. "Just... being here." Existing. Surviving, barely. She hasn't really run into anyone--except for her brief conversation with Shepard. But she couldn't stay there, knowing what she knew. And so she was back out here again, on her own and not really caring where she ends up.

"You're the first I've found."

"You must have ditched the Cornucopia fast, huh?" He raises a brow at her and moves to step back a little bit from the hug, so they're close but not that close. He can't help grazing his eyes worriedly over her, entirely unsure what to do.

"I don't blame you, it was a clusterfuck. You finally get to appreciate touching people without force-fields and they're brandishing skates, right? Who even decided strapping weapons to us all was a good idea? They're probably playing hard-ball this time around."

The bit of rambling from Dave pulls a smile to Terezi's lips, though there's a hint of force behind it. Regardless, she's glad to hear him and to talk to him. If she had to run into anyone, she's glad that it's him.

"Maybe the viewers are getting bored. We're supposed to hurry up and die quicker. They require their gladiator deaths to be in more concentrated doses. More bleeding, less talking."

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I'm not a gangster tonight

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