thearena | (no subject)

Who| Karkat + Chibi Usa, Karkat + Signless, Karkat + YOU?
What| Karkat makes his first kill and meets his ancestor, among other things.
Where| Main Street USA, elsewhere?
When| Week Six
Warnings/Notes| murder, blood, kids killing kids

Karkat's been in the arena for an hour, maybe two. It's the crowning glory to an unbelievably shitty night, which began with him and his friends fighting the Black King and ended with a bunch of weird hornless aliens shoving him into a tube and sending him into a death match. The part in the middle where that demon-barkbeast-carapace-thing destroyed the door into their new universe just before Karkat slipped into unconsciousness hadn't helped either.

He's managed to pick up a few things via breaking into some of the little commerce hives that line the thoroughfare leading up to the big yellow horn-shaped cavity. Nothing that great, though. Certainly no weapons. The large spool of grey thread might come in handy once he can find a needle, but until then...

Well. When Karkat manages to score some more supplies, he'll figure more shit out. He's taken his cloak off, figuring that if nothing else he can use it as a makeshift garrotte for now, and waits in the dark spaces between buildings, hoping to get the jump on someone. Preferably someone with supplies.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The Signless makes a choked-off shout and drops his cloak-bag with a thunk. Oranges go rolling in every direction, though luckily his water bottle stays capped. His injury gives a painful twinge at being suddenly jerked backward, and the shout melts off into a whimper. He lifts his hands to tug at the thing around his neck.

Tonight is clearly not his night.

Blood. Blood on the street. Bright candyred blood-- fuck--

Karkat tightens the garrote, because he sure as fuck wants this troll dead, now that he's seen Karkat bleed.

Karkat bleed?

Karkat isn't bleeding. Wasn't before. He'd feel it if he were. And then he sees the wound, the raw red flesh, and he knows who's bleeding and it isn't him.

"Holy fuck."

Karkat drops the garrote and begins to back away.

The Signless staggers forward when the pressure is suddenly lifted, a hand at his throat. He turns, trying to get a look at who attacked him, and sees horns -- little, nubby horns, one someone even shorter than him. This must be a young troll, then, like the one he met earlier.

Their eyes meet. Signless's are obviously too light, too bright, to be quite normal.

"I won't hurt you," he says, because it's all he can think of to say, and maybe if this troll knows he isn't in danger he won't attack?

"You're a mutant," Karkat whispers. "You're a fucking mutant." He's shaking, he can't seem to make himself stop shaking. "Fuck."

He should run, he thinks, run or finish this wastechute off. But he can't. Why?

(It's the blood, of course it's the blood, that's what it always comes back to, isn't it?)

Edited 2013-04-28 02:43 (UTC)

Please, he thinks, don't be like the other one. And please don't be a highblood.

Carefully, he backs away from Karkat, kneeling down to re-gather his bottle and oranges but never taking his eyes off the boy for more than a split second. He can't afford losing food and having to waste time back-tracking into Tomorrowland for more. Losing the water is out of the question entirely. He knows what severe dehydration is like.

"I am. But I won't hurt you. I have no powers. I have no weapons."

He should kill him. Karkat knows he should kill him. He's unarmed and wounded and taking down an adult--despite the smallness, the other troll's irises have filled in with his too-bright color--would be something to be proud of. Even if the adult was kind of, well, lame.

Except. Except this is someone with his blood. Not a game construct like Jack, but an actual troll. Karkat never thought there'd be others like him--much less an adult, how hadn't he been culled at Conscription?--but the idea that he's not alone in his mutation is kind of...

It's kind of nice.

Karkat really doesn't want to cull another troll like him. Not when he doesn't know if he'll ever meet another.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing running around wounded, wastelobe? Anyone sees that candyred and you're even more cullbait than you already are!" He grabs a runaway orange, tosses it to the other troll. "Look, you're obviously diseased in the thinkpan as well as a dirty mutant, so we need to get you off the street." He jabs a claw in the direction of the nearest boarded-up storefront, where he'd stashed the stuff he'd looted from the pink alien girl.

Edited 2013-04-29 17:34 (UTC)

The Signless doesn't bother mentioning that the aliens he's seen bleed red too -- he has a feeling it won't matter. It doesn't count the same if it's not troll blood. He (barely) catches the orange and shoves it back into the makeshift bag.

He hefts it and eyes the storefront, not dubiously but rather with honest appraisal. He's spent the day in worse places, after all.

"That might be a plan," he says. "At least until my shoulder stops bleeding." He wonders if they can clean and bandage it -- he has water, though he doesn't know if it's worth wasting on a wound.

"At least," Karkat mutters as he stomps off, trusting to the older troll to follow him. The former gift-shop seems well picked over, but there are still a few defunct souvenirs left. One of the tee shirts with the stylized squeakbest would probably make an okay bandage.

Karkat's got his loot stashed behind the register. "Here," he growls, handing the adult troll a rolled up bundle. "You can use this. It's basically fabric recoupercoon, only without any sopor. I'm Karkat. Do you have a title or don't mutants get them?"

They better, Karkat thinks. He sure as fuck doesn't want to be called by his hatchname forever. (Not that it matters, since he's probably going to die in a matter of nights, but whatever.)

Edited 2013-04-30 17:55 (UTC)