Chapter Text
It’s a sunny day out, with clear blue skies, a color somewhat between Jane & John’s blue eyes. It’s warm, with a mild breeze, much like it was on your island; although it’s significantly less humid. That was a major factor in your choosing this to be the place where you would live. It’s the perfect gardening climate, and for this same reason, you are kneeling in the black-brown earth.
Your arms are stained with dirt, as you’ve been crouched over digging all day. Which, truth be told, you have been. Your deep blue dress fans around you, hiding your rough, muddy knees. Long black hair tosses about your shoulders in the breeze and you are constantly catching it and tucking it back behind your ear. Your human ears, that is. Your fluffy white dog ears-the only vestige of your beloved Becquerel-are uncomfortable with hair tucked behind them. Right now they are flicking lazily atop your head, picking up the whir of the rushing breeze and the scrunch of your hands in the dirt.
Fingers pull apart the thick, sturdy leaves of the vegetables you have been cultivating. Vibrant lime green eyes pick out any and every blemish on the waxy stems with practiced ease.
Next to you sits a woven wooden basket, which is currently filled with carrots, beans, and small red tomatoes. Satisfied with the amount you have gathered, you sit back a bit and smile up at the sky, with eyes closed; and you inhale through your nose. The air smells sweet, with a hint of pollen, and post-rain aromas. It reminds you of old times, and you lie down and let the nostalgia wash over you. Damn your narcolepsy.
You dream of old times, playing Catch-The-Bullet with Bec. He is being a Good Dog, Best Friend, and he is not randomly teleporting you to inconvenient places. You hate it when he does that, even though you know he’s just looking out for you. The green grass sways in the breeze and you are truly content. It smells just like it did in your garden, except there is also a metallic scent woven into the air.
Wait.
Metallic?
Your eyes snap open behind your round glasses as a shadow passes over you, and you spin quickly and leap to your feet in a clumsy motion, tipping the basket of vegetables. You don’t even spare them a glance, though, because in front of you stands the greatest danger to your well-being since you moved here.
Ten feet tall, dressed in hulking black metallic armor, face shrouded except for two bright red, evil eyes that glare down at you malevolently-this is an Imperial Drone.
“Fuck!” you hear yourself whisper.
Your hands immediately fly up to your dog ears, seeking to hide your abnormality and be somehow spared from culling. It’s useless and you know it, because the drone lets out a rough, angry grunt, and reaches its well-muscled right arm across to its left side.
You are running out of time. The seconds slip by slowly, dramatically, and you could relish their passing if you had enough space in your head to do so. Your eyes dart any and every direction, searching for something to protect you, as you are currently unarmed. Any escape is one you will readily welcome. But none come to you.
The drone pulls out a cruel, silver sword with a spiraled black guard. It steps towards you, raising an arm, and your whole body tenses like a coiled spring.
Your name is Karkat Vantas. You pour a mug of steaming black coffee-fuck that cream and sugar shit-and turn to carry it to your table. Halfway there, the mug falls to the ground with a smash, and shatters into a hundred slivers of baby blue porcelain, bathed in dark brown liquid. You make no effort to stop the cup’s descent, however, because you are already out the door.
A scream-high, shrill, and reality-shattering, is the only thing that you hear. There is only one person who could be making that noise, and that person is Jade Harley.