Karkat Vantas ♋ carcinoGeneticist (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bethehugejerk) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
caughtinanetwork2013-02-05 09:28 pm
bethehugejerk) wrote in caughtinanetwork2013-02-05 09:28 pm
045 ♋ [DREAM → rising sun]
[By the time Karkat's dreaming, he can't remember having fallen asleep, the pain in his side makes the unreality of it fall from mind.]
Ow, shit--
[He's been stabbed. The wound's in his right side, and without even bothering to look he clamps his hand over it. But it's bleeding still, the feel hot on his hand, warmer than blood ever should be for a troll.]
[Before him stands the man responsible: a black-shelled being with narrowed, beady eyes. Some might recognize him as an iteration of Jack Noir, or by the name Spades Slick, dressed in some kind of court-styled coat with a black and white collar. He holds a knife in his hand.]
DON'T LOOK!
[That's Karkat, clamping his hand down tighter to try and stem the bleeding, making him hiss at the pain of it. He dares a glance down, and fleetingly he thinks the shirt must be ruined. His other hand is raised as if to ward away vision.]
Just please, don't, don't look at it. It's freakish anyway, you don't want to see, just look away--
[Jack looks anyway. The blood on the knife is red.]
--Fuck.
[Karkat looks at him now, hand lowered, though the other doesn't leave his wound.]
I swear I'm being taunted with this stupid planet.
[Above stretches a sky of streaky reddish grey, dotted here and there with purple clouds. If there are stars above they can't be seen, nor anything like a sun; indeed, the air's too murky to see what might beyond this planet at all. All land is formed of black stone, poking out in jagged islands or castle-like portions of buildings. They stand on a sort of hill made of the two combined.]
[It's not the planet he came from. Alternia, for all its violent history, never had literal seas of blood - nor hearts embedded in its structures, beating more of it.]
Why else would I get stuck here? Oceans of mutant candy-red everywhere. Ha ha! Poor little mutant! No one else has this color, so of course the outcast has to get put in the Land of Pulse and Haze, like some punishment for--for I don't even know what--
[Jack's eyes narrow further at his blabbering, but when he moves, his motions are smooth and easy. He draws his knife neatly across his palm. When he holds it up, the cut bleeds the same red.]
[Karkat stares, and his mouth drops open. He'd wonder how his eyes haven't fallen out of their sockets if not for the shock of what he's seeing. How? How? How could somebody else have it? But the hand holds out in an offering of peace. Even though he's the one who stabbed him - that thought's far and away from his mind right now - he crosses over to take hold with his own bloody palm.]
[Then Karkat wakes.]
(OOC: Note! This dream is non-interactive, meaning responses should come via the network after the dream itself. This has been mod OK'd.)
Ow, shit--
[He's been stabbed. The wound's in his right side, and without even bothering to look he clamps his hand over it. But it's bleeding still, the feel hot on his hand, warmer than blood ever should be for a troll.]
[Before him stands the man responsible: a black-shelled being with narrowed, beady eyes. Some might recognize him as an iteration of Jack Noir, or by the name Spades Slick, dressed in some kind of court-styled coat with a black and white collar. He holds a knife in his hand.]
DON'T LOOK!
[That's Karkat, clamping his hand down tighter to try and stem the bleeding, making him hiss at the pain of it. He dares a glance down, and fleetingly he thinks the shirt must be ruined. His other hand is raised as if to ward away vision.]
Just please, don't, don't look at it. It's freakish anyway, you don't want to see, just look away--
[Jack looks anyway. The blood on the knife is red.]
--Fuck.
[Karkat looks at him now, hand lowered, though the other doesn't leave his wound.]
I swear I'm being taunted with this stupid planet.
[Above stretches a sky of streaky reddish grey, dotted here and there with purple clouds. If there are stars above they can't be seen, nor anything like a sun; indeed, the air's too murky to see what might beyond this planet at all. All land is formed of black stone, poking out in jagged islands or castle-like portions of buildings. They stand on a sort of hill made of the two combined.]
[It's not the planet he came from. Alternia, for all its violent history, never had literal seas of blood - nor hearts embedded in its structures, beating more of it.]
Why else would I get stuck here? Oceans of mutant candy-red everywhere. Ha ha! Poor little mutant! No one else has this color, so of course the outcast has to get put in the Land of Pulse and Haze, like some punishment for--for I don't even know what--
[Jack's eyes narrow further at his blabbering, but when he moves, his motions are smooth and easy. He draws his knife neatly across his palm. When he holds it up, the cut bleeds the same red.]
[Karkat stares, and his mouth drops open. He'd wonder how his eyes haven't fallen out of their sockets if not for the shock of what he's seeing. How? How? How could somebody else have it? But the hand holds out in an offering of peace. Even though he's the one who stabbed him - that thought's far and away from his mind right now - he crosses over to take hold with his own bloody palm.]
[Then Karkat wakes.]
(OOC: Note! This dream is non-interactive, meaning responses should come via the network after the dream itself. This has been mod OK'd.)
action;
[Pause.]
Unless it's a literal joke you're talking about, which is dumber than it sounds already.
action;
[That is... clear right? Sort of. Well, it is to Gamzee.]
action;
action;
[Whoops, is his sandwich blackening a bit? Possibly. It is hard to pay attention to that when talking about something as amazing as eventual clown shangri-la.]
A real beautiful shangri-la, motherfucker. The kinda hood where all us motherfuckers be equal as can be, nothing to ever harsh our chill ever again.
action;
[He starts to say, but something catches his attention: a smell.]
Gamzee, get your sandwich or it's going to burn, and it smells halfway there already!
action;
[Gamzee jerks in surprise before he quickly tries to save his sanwich, firstly by jerking the pan to the side and off the heat, secondly by sticking his clown mitts in the back to pluck out his sanwich and deposit it on the plate.
He really doesn't do his best thinking under pressure.]
Oww.
[He sucks his injured fingertips as he pokes at his sandwich with his food hand, using a claw to scrape off a little bit of the black before announcing.]
It's cool, I can still eat this!