amateur alien animal control, and other normal college activities
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“No, you’re not,” Karkat says.
“No I’m not,” you agree, and then: “Also, there’s a wasp on your backpack.”
“Oh fuck,” Karkat swears- surprise, that- jumping all the way up before apparently realizing the negative impact that that has on his (nonexistent) image of cool and collected-ness. He sits back down careful, cautious, never once taking his eyes away from the wasp that is indeed making both a house and home of his backpack. Godspeed, you think; Karkat has had that bag of his for years, and you are half-convinced that there’s a new species of bacteria evolving in the depths of its front pocket as you speak. You are hoping that he will let you name it.
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“That’s categorically untrue,” you say.
“You’re categorically untrue,” Karkat grumbles. The squirrel sort of… chitters? You take it upon yourself to translate. It seems to have called you both a series of words best omitted to maintain our family-friendly rating.
“That’s not very nice,” you scold it.
“Kanaya are you talking to the fucking squirrel,” Karkat says flatly. “Do not talk to the fucking squirrel. Put the squirrel down. People are looking at us.”
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“You’ve drafted dress designs,” Karkat says, ignoring your scathing and frankly kind of impressive sarcasm. It’s an accusation. It’s also correct. Damn him and his ability to see sketches that you have left out on your shared coffee table!
“I’ve drafted dress designs,” you agree, and then huff once and reach out a hand to prod at the anthill in an attempt to mollify yourself and your half-drafted dress designs. This is a mistake. You send the entire thing into immediate and severe disarray. “But there’s not much point- she doesn’t like me like that. I’ll never get to use them.”
“She asked you out,” Karkat says. “You said radical.”
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