Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Prologue

It was midday when everything went down, and from what you remember it was hot. Blisteringly hot. Deliriously hot. And bright. Far, far too bright. You were still used to a nocturnal schedule, this was your first time seeing the sun. Kanaya had always told you beautiful stories about it, about the sunrise and the warmth and the graceful way light danced between leaves in the trees. You wished your first time seeing it was as breathtaking as she'd always made it out to be. But now...
Now you wished you'd never seen the light of day.

There was blood. So much blood. Bright, revolting candy red and smears of teal all across your hive and on the asphalt surrounding and trailing behind you as you made your escape to...to...
you don't really know where.

You stumble around in the afternoon heat, surrounded by a fog of blood and haze. You could smell the undertones coating your nostrils and throat in copper. Your blood, vibrant and mutated and disgusting, was seeping through the fabric of your shirt and dripping in hot rivulets down the hand that squeezed around your abdomen. You were losing a lot of it.

But your lusus had lost more trying to defend you. He'd fought tooth and claw to keep you safe, and so had Terezi, when she came to your rescue at the sound of screaming from your hive. And now she was bleeding out on the roof of your hive, eyes pried open and forever unseeing.

The last thing she ever saw was the sun.

You flinch at the thought and then hiss from how painful that action was.

Who cares about your pain, though? That shouldn't matter. You need to get help for her. For Terezi, your best friend and sole confidant. The girl who had almost died, could still die, trying to protect your stupid ass. The least you could do was return the favor.

Your lusus had died for you, you couldn't let Terezi die, too.

It was...so hot, though. And you were so weak. You were small and weak and losing a lot of blood. You stumble once more and lean against an alley wall for support, but find yourself unable to continue moving. You're growing tired, exhausted even. If this was a normal day, you would have been in bed hours ago. But here you are, blistering in the sun while you smear your own tainted blood against the wall as you feel your consciousness slowly fade.

Great. It would be just your luck if you keeled over from blood loss before you could get help for your friend, who was in a far worse situation than yourself. You're useless. Completely useless.

You don't deserve a friend like Terezi.

You didn't deserve a lusus like Crabdad.

And now you're slipping.

This...this is probably the end.

You're not going to make it.

You guess it's true what they say, lowbloods do have pretty short lives.

You think about Terezi, how her eyes changed from yellow and gray to the same damaged red as your blood.

You think about your lusus, and how his blood simmered on your doorstep in the sunlight, the same damaged red as yours.

You think about the sun, and how much you fucking hate it. You close your eyes.

You refuse to even so much as look at it before you die.

You'd rather it be dark when you go.

You're lying on the ground for what must have only been a few minutes, but feels like an eternity, when you feel something smooth brush by your face. Your first instinct is to lash out and bare your teeth at whatever it is and hope it'll leave you alone to die in peace. You feel yourself make contact with flesh.

You growl and scratch at whatever it is until your eyes fly open and you see-

oh.

It's a carapace.

Seeing as you've always viewed the carapace people as a nonthreatening species, you can feel yourself relax. You've met a few carapacians before, and they've all been very nice, for the most part. Your mailwoman is a carapace, and she's really talkative and polite to you, which is more than you feel you deserve from any living being. But you digress.

This carapace-not your mailwoman, but a different woman in a colorful pastel nurse's uniform-is crouching in front of you with the softest, most worried expression you've ever seen. Her skin is that smooth white shell that half the species has, and it's almost painful to look at in the sunlight. You turn your face away from her to keep your eyesight intact.

That's when you notice her hand.

Her hand is held near you, pulled away from the position it had held when it had brushed against you, most likely in search of a pulse. It's only then that you recall that your claws had made a satisfying amount of contact with the offending party.

The cuts were fairly shallow. Troll claws may be sharp, but carapace skin was tough like exoskeleton. You're thankful for that right now as you watch the cuts seep cherry down her arm. You tighten your hold on your own wounds subconsciously. For some reason, she doesn't look upset that you cut her. Instead, she looks concerned. But what could be so concerning to her? Certainly not you.

The bleeding hand approaches slowly once again, and this time you watch it come forward. The carapace stops just short of your face, and you give the slightest nod to allow her to continue whatever she was doing. You feel she's trustworthy. And what's she gonna do, kill you? You're certain you're going to die today, but definitely not at the hands of a kind looking carapace.

Her hand moves forward and brushes a few stray locks of hair off your face in an almost maternal gesture. That made you feel strange, you've never experienced something like that before. Perhaps...she is concerned about you? But why?

Oh, she's talking to you now.

She asks if you're alone. You nod weakly. Yes, you are. She asks your name, age, and where your lusus is and why you're out at this time of day. You offer as much of a response as you can muster.

"Karkat....." your voice is so small, and you didn't realize just how thirsty you were until that very moment. "Vantas. I-I'm...three sweeps old, and my lusus is....my lusus is...."

You try to continue, but you can't bring yourself to say it. You don't want to say it. You won't.

It's only when the nice carapace lady rubs a tear away from your cheek that you realize you were crying.

"I understand. It's okay if you don't want to talk about it yet."

Her voice is as soft as her sympathetic gaze led you to believe, and you can feel her papping you on the face lightly. You begin to relax despite yourself.

She asks you again why you're outside. Are you lost? What happened?

You open your mouth to answer her like she wants, when it occurs to you that she could help Terezi. She could help.

"Terezi, we need to hurry and help Terezi!" You insist, leaning forward and pulling on her shirt in a gesture to both get her to follow you and help you reach a standing position. "Rezi is still back there! Come on, she's hurt and....we have to...help."

You go all of five steps on your own with the woman following you before you stumble. You would have hit the ground if she hadn't caught you midfall and are thankful for her fast reflexes.

"You look a little worse for ware yourself." She mumbles into your ear.

"No. No, Rezi." You wave her concern away from you and to someone who actually needs it. Terezi is so much more important, saving her should be top priority.

You try to tell the carapace at least that much, aware that not all your words are making it through. Eventually you dissolve into a stream of murmured apologies to your brave friend before you lose consciousness once again.

This time you're sure it's for good.

You're oh for two on the death front, and you're not sure if that's a good thing. There's pain, but much less than there was before when you were bleeding out on the street. Speaking of which, where are you?
You crack open an eye, expecting the harsh sunlight to blind you like it recently did your friend, but are so surprised by the lack of sun that both of your eyes open wide and are assaulted by the softest light imaginable.

You're indoors, you know that now. This light is not natural, and neither is the steady hum of cold air being released into the room. But you're not cold, you happen to be covered by a blanket. You're lying on a bed, which is a weird experience for you, because you've never really used a bed before. It's a lot softer than you thought it'd be. It feels nice. Really nice.

Are you dead?

Maybe you were wrong earlier when you said you were oh for two.

You were probably dead. There was no way you should be feeling this pleasant after all the horrifying stuff that went down.

That thought makes you shoot up into a sitting position, and you release a hiss of pain as heat shoots up your abdomen under a thick layer of bandages. But that doesn't matter. Terezi. Terezi is what matters.
Is she okay? Did she get help? Were you able to find someone in time?

You pull back the covers and attempt to stand, leaning against the bedframe for support. Your legs, on the other hand, are unable to support your weight. You sink back into the mattress in defeat.

You hope Terezi is okay.

You drift back to sleep.

When you wake up this time, there's someone leering over you. Another carapace, this one darker and far less friendly in appearance, a scar disfiguring one eye. You bite back the snarl in the back of your throat and just glare right back up at them.

This staring contest goes on for a surprising amount of time before you have to forfeit and blink away the tears that had been forming to moisten your deliberately dehydrated eyes. The carapace sneers at you, exposing set of sharp teeth that could rival that of any other troll you know. You bare your teeth back at him.

Before you can even figure out what's going on, he pulls something out of his hat and throws it onto your bed. You investigate it as nonchalantly as possible, not wanting to show any interest in front of this agitated stranger.

...it's a sandwich.

You weren't really expecting that.

Cautiously, you pick up the cellophane wrapped sandwich and investigate it further. It looks fine, for the most part. But then again, you don't know if a poisoned sandwich would look different from a normal sandwich. You don't feel one hundred percent safe eating this thing.

Your stomach growls in protest and you're ripping off the plastic wrap before you even know what you're doing.

You take a voracious bite, you didn't realize just how hungry you were.

You feel one hundred percent safe eating this thing.

You feel so safe about this thing that you eat all of it in three bites.

While you were debating about eating the sandwich, the carapace had stood and continued to glare angrily at you. When you were finally chewing your last bite, savoring the food for as long as possible, the carapace struck out towards you again.

You weren't sure what was going on, but you were ready to fight if that's what this was coming to. You swallow and hiss at him, baring your claws until you notice that...yeah...they're empty.

Weren't you just holding the plastic wrap?

The carapace doesn't look the slightest bit amused at your misplaced aggression as you figure out what happened just now. There's a knife grasped in one of their hands, the wrapper pierced through with it.
Your eyebrows knit together. That was a weird way to retrieve a wrapper. But whatever.

The carapace begins to walk away from you, and they're almost to the door before the inquiry occurs to you.

"Um..." You begin. Great job so far, Vantas. Well, at least they turned around. "Do....do you know what happened? To Terezi?"

They're glowering at you. You think that might be their default expression. "That the teal one?"

The carapace's voice is deep and a bit gravelly, like they spend a lot of time raising their voice. You assume male for now.

You feel your bloodpusher skip a beat, and you are filled with a mix of hope and desperation towards your friend's fate. You nod.

"Yes. That's her, the teal one."

He sighs and turns back around to leave. You almost protest, but stop yourself when you realize he's still going to respond.

"She's blind, but seems like she'll live."

The door slams behind him, and you can feel the furniture shake a bit at the force.

You sink into the mattress again and feel the relief wash over you in waves.

She's alive. She's blind, but she's alive.

That's all that matters.

It's awhile before anyone comes into your room again, so you're completely bored and ready for whatever's to come when you hear it creak open again. You bristle.

The nice carapace from before pops her head into the room and looks around before making eye contact with you and coming inside slowly. You relax.

She approaches your bed slowly, like a person would a startled animal. You feel like you should be offended by this comparison before you consider that that's exactly how you've been acting up to this point. She reaches the foot of your bed and touches the blankets gently, a silent request to sit there. You nod. Your feet don't even reach there, anyway.

She takes a seat and looks you over curiously. You take the time to do the same to her. She's wearing a sundress and a pink hood, the kind you've seen a lot of female carapaces wear. You're not sure why they wear them, but that feels like too personal a question to ask at the moment. The dress definitely suits her, but you feel like the scrubs you met her in suit her best. But who are you to judge a person's fashion sense?

"How are you feeling?" She asks quietly.

"Better." You say, not certain how to respond. You think that's the right choice, because she seems to relax at that. You hadn't noticed how stiff she was.

"That's good! You lost a lot of blood, I was worried."

"Sorry." You're not sure what you're sorry for, you just know you feel bad for making this nice person worry about the likes of you. "How's...how's Terezi doing?"

The woman stiffens a bit again, which makes your bloodpusher almost stop in response. That doesn't seem good.

"She...lost a lot of blood." She says carefully, and you can feel your pusher sinking. "Don't worry, though, she's fine. For the most part. It's harder to come by blood from lower on the hemospectrum, so we had to take her to a hospital to get her the transfusion she needed. She's in the middle, though, so getting her blood should be fine. But..."

The carapace seemed to struggle with whatever she wanted to tell you next. Whatever it was must be devastating news, unless...

"If...if it's about her being blind now, I already....I already knew that." You say quietly, stumbling over the words. You may already know, but that doesn't mean you're exactly ready to make peace with that yet, or accept your role in it, for that matter. "That happened...before I went to look for help. Before I found you."

Her shoulders sag a bit, and she looks so sad that you almost want to comfort her, even though you know it's you she feels sad for. One of her hand twitches in her lap as if she has to physically restrain herself from performing pale activities like comforting you. She seems well aware of troll social structure, and you're appreciative of that. You almost allow her to attempt a comforting gesture towards you until you see the bandage on her own hand, nearly camouflaged against her skin.

You did that to her. That was your fault.

Terezi's injuries were your fault, too.

So was Crabdad's death.

The last thing you deserve is comfort.

That look she's giving you though tells you she thinks otherwise, and it's so sad and sympathetic that it physically hurts you. She shouldn't be looking at you like that. You need to change the subject.

"You," you clear your throat, "you said Terezi went to the hospital?"

The carapace nods. "Yes."

"So...where are we?" You've been wondering this for awhile, ever since you determined you weren't, in fact, dead.

"Oh, of course." She claps her hands together. "You're at the house, mine and Jack's! You see, the crew has a very good, very discrete doctor whom I thought would be the best option given your...circumstances."

Oh. So not only did she know about troll social dynamics, she also knew a bit about the hemospectrum. A bit too much, in your opinion.

You instinctively tighten the blanket around yourself. This action is noticed by the nice carapace, and the worry is back in her eyes. Great.

Another subject change is in order.

"Who's Jack?" You ask. You don't really care, you just want her to stop looking at you like that.

"Jack is my husband." She says, practically beaming. You can see the blush in her cheeks, which you honestly didn't even know was possible, given the shell quality of their skin. "You met him earlier. He brought you food, unless he delegated the task to one of his crew members. I doubt he did, though. He was the black one with the snarling face and a scar on his right eye."

You nod. "I remember him."

You can't believe she's married to that guy, or that she's so happy about it. That must be one hell of a relationship.

You struggle to bite back all your comments on the subject. You owe this woman big time, and you doubt she'd appreciate whatever you have to say. At any rate, another thing she said is nagging at the back of your head and would like to be acknowledged.

"You said....crew members? What does that mean?"

It seems this was the wrong question to ask, because she stiffens again and stands up. "That's a question you should ask Jack."

She turns to leave, but doesn't move immediately, looking back at you on the bed.

"Is...there anything you need?" She asks you.

"Um...books." You say uncertainly. "And a...a phone, if that's okay."

"A phone?" She looks quizzically back at you, and you just shrug.

"I have to make a call."

She nods. "Alright. I'll see what I can do."

Her dress swishes behind her as she exits. The door closes softly behind her. You sigh into a pillow, feeling stupider than usual. You're not sure why you asked for books, you can't even read yet. All you really needed was the phone.

You had some arrangements to make.

"Mmhm. It's okay. Tell Eridan and Feferi they can gather up as much as they need to feed her giant lu-you know what." You can't bring yourself to say lusus. You feel dumb. "Yes, all of it, if they can. No, it's fine. I don't know when I'll be back, and I already said goodbye. I'm fine. Really, I am. Gross, why would you want that? But you're not. But you're not. Okay, okay, take it, I don't care, just less cleaning for me, I guess. You're not going to drink it, right? Because you're not a rainbow drinker. Listen, you can keep it, just don't drink it, okay? What do you mean, no? Kanaya, you're gross. Yes, you are. Yes, you are. Alright, whatever, can you just make sure those two fishfaces find my hive? Alright. Thanks. I owe you one, Kanaya. See you soon."

"Friend of yours?"

You squeak and almost drop the phone. You're proud of yourself for not dropping it and also hanging up before Kanaya heard that undignified noise you just made. She would never let you live it down.

You glare at Jack, who just smirks back at you. That's the closest thing to a smile you've ever seen on his face, and it's all because you startle easily. You don't like it.

"Yes." You say defensively.

"What were you talking about, kid?"

You squint suspiciously at him. Why was he so curious all of a sudden? You'd almost had to pry responses out of him the first time. "Why?"

"Don't disrespect your elders. Just answer the question."

Your face goes from suspicious and defensive to tired and agitated at the drop of a hat as you phrase your answer in a way you feel most species would understand. "Funeral arrangements."

The smirk's gone, at least. You're back to default grimace now, only it feels a bit forced. Maybe you shouldn't have told him what you were doing.

"Aint you a little young to be doing that kind of shit?"

You shake your head. "Not for a troll, I'm not." You launch into an explanation before he can even ask, because you just know he's going to. "Troll culture is different than human and carapace culture about things like death. We don't have burials for our dead. They get...repurposed. For other things. Mostly for feeding the really big, scarier lus-guardians."

You'd choked halfway through. Almost had it. You're getting there. You hope he didn't notice.

If he noticed, he doesn't acknowledge it. "Ms. Paint said you were six."

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion at the foreign name.

"Ms. Paint. The woman who found you? You telling me she saved your life and you didn't even exchange names?"

"...I told her mine." You offer meekly. Your mouth tastes like guilt.

"You want a fucking medal?" He's practically shouting at you. If you were normal you would be shrinking away, but you? No, never. Raised voices are what you're used to, and it's clearly what he's used to, too. You're both in your element.

"Well excuse me for not exchanging pleasantries with a stranger while I was too busy bleeding out in the middle of fucking nowhere looking for help for a goddamn friend!" You shout back at him, feeling your face heat up.

Not your best work. Nor your best choice. You wonder if you're going to be kicked out.

There's silence in the room, and the carapace-Ms. Paint had called him Jack-just stands there with his hands curled into fists. You clear your throat.

"So," you say slowly, keeping your voice level. "her name's Ms. Paint?"

He nods, sneering.

You're back to confused eyebrows. "I thought you were married?"

"She kept her maiden name."

"Oh."

There's silence again. You force your hands to unclench the blanket you're holding. The phone goes on the nightstand, on top of the books you asked for that you can't read.

"Your speech is pretty good for a six year old. Clearest I've ever heard one talk."

You can't help but snort. "You've obviously never met a troll kid before. Trolls develop the part of the pan responsible for communication much earlier than humans or carapaces, partly because we're responsible for most of the verbal arrangements like food exchange or appointment booking at an earlier age than either of your species, since our...guardians, are unable to make any noises resembling that of trolls or humans. They can't do it, so we have to."

Jack nods as if he understands. "So you're saying you're nothing special?"

"Well, no, my lu-my...he-" you swallow. "I've been told I'm pretty advanced for my age."

Your hands are back to clutching the blanket in a vice grip, and you try to calm yourself down. It doesn't work.

"Ms...Paint said I should ask you about your crew?" You say quietly, still trying to will your hands to do what you want.

He glares suspiciously back at you. "What did she tell you?"

"Nothing." You say defensively. "She just said I should ask you."

He's standing there, and you can see the faintest glint of a blade in his hand. This isn't helping you relax at all.

"Listen, kid," he takes a step closer to you, and it's all you can do to stop yourself from shying away from the approach. God, he's so menacing looking standing over you like that. "I don't know how much you know about crime here, being six and all, and I wouldn't tell you about this under any other circumstances. I run a gang, a real big operation. You might have heard of it, if you read the papers."

You almost admit your illiteracy, but don't. Whatever he's saying feels pretty important right now, so you just sit there and look at him. Today is the quietest you've ever been. It's weird.

"They call me Spades Slick," he smirks at you again, seemingly proud of this fact. "in the papers. I'm a member of the Midnight Crew."

The Midnight Crew. That sounds...vaguely familiar. You remember hearing a little about it from Terezi, apprehending them was one of her favorite games next to playing dragons.

From what you recall they were extremely dangerous. You hope that was an exaggeration.

"I'm only telling you this because Ms. Paint made it clear she wants you to stay here. Indefinitely. And if that's the deal, then you should know what you've gotten yourself into, kid. If it were up to me you'd be out of here in a heartbeat." He snarls at you. "You're lucky she wants kids."

He's leaving again, and the door slamming behind him. You're left in bed, blinking absently at nothing. An...indefinite stay. With a notorious gang, the Midnight Crew.

You're beginning to wonder just what you've gotten yourself into.

_ _ _

Chapter One

Your name is Dave Strider, and you're bored as fuck. You don't know why you thought hanging out at the police station and waiting for your dad would be more interesting than staying at home and waiting. Even with the increased amount of dangerous criminals in your vicinity it does nothing to stop your brain melting, pants shitting boredom. You were better off staying at home with your genius siblings. Or maybe chatting up Terezi online and seeing what she was up to. But nah. You decided you'd be a little shit and bug your dad at work instead. He'd said he was going grocery shopping afterwards, and you wanted to make sure you were there when he did. You needed to stock up on doritos and apple juice.

But you're so. fucking. bored. You're not sure any amount of aj and delicious, delicious, triangle shaped chips is worth this. You spin around in your father's desk chair and blow air out of your nose. You were told to stay put.

There's a flurry of officers rushing in, shouting, jostling someone, possibly multiple someones, between the fray of blue uniforms. You stop spinning and watch curiously, lifting your sunglasses just a bit so you can see properly. Now this is interesting.

Everyone is shouting all at once, all frantic and excited and loud. You can't make out a god damned word of it. You stand up on your toes to try and get a better view over the officers, some of which are taller than you. You swear you can make out a bit of orange horn in the middle of the jostling group. So, there was a troll in custody. You're honestly not that surprised, since they tend to be a pretty violent species. Even your role plays with Terezi stray a bit towards the more...dangerous side of things.

Your father takes up the rear of the group, trailing behind. You feel a pang of sympathy towards him. It must be tough, at his height. Carapaces aren't exactly known for being tall, and your father stands at a pretty average height for his species. But even so, you and your siblings almost tower over the poor guy.

"Yo!" You call out to him, catching up with the agitated looking carapace easily. "What's up?"

"Dave, I told you to stay at the desk." He scolds as he runs frantically after the group. You match stride just walking.

"I know, but there was shouting and a hell of a lot of excitable boys in blue. I got swept up by the stampede. So, what's the deal? What's everybody so hung up about?"

He looks at you and slows down until he eventually just stops, and the both of you lose sight of the herd of officers.

"You can't tell anyone."

"Aight. My lips are sealed. Locked tight. My mouth is a motherfucking vault that requires identification and a password to gather at the mysterious, valuable secrets inside. And you know what the password is?"

"Dave!" He's glaring impatiently up at you.

You're gonna shut up, but you should finish your joke first. "It's mum."

"What?"

"The word. It's mum. Mum's the word. Get it?"

He sighs exasperatedly at you. It's something you're used to. Everyone does that with you. "So you'll keep quiet?"

"Yes." You'll probably just tell Terezi, if anyone.

"Good. Now here's the deal." He looks excited. You've never seen him look so excited. This must be some bust. "We got 'em. We caught the Midnight Crew."

Your eyes widen behind your shades. Your father has been looking into the Midnight Crew for years, he's been practically obsessed with them for as long as you can remember. They're pretty slippery bastards, you're thoroughly impressed. "The Crew? The whole fucking crew? God damn, seriously? Wow."

His smile falters a little bit, and you wonder if you said something wrong. Did that come out as sarcastic? You hadn't meant it sarcastically. "Not the whole crew." He amends. "Just a couple of fledgling members and an underling. But he's an important underling, so there's that. And he seems like the type who'd want to cut a deal, so we might get more member names out of him before the night's over."

Your elation deflates a bit. "So you'll be late leaving, then?"

"Yeah. I might be here all night. You don't have to stay here with me, you can go home if you want."

You can't say the thought didn't cross your mind. "Nah," you shake your head, "I think I'll hang around here a bit. I don't got a life."

He nods. "Just...stay in the lobby, okay? Right there." He points at an empty bench by the doors.

You nod. "Okay. I'm gonna go chill, then. See you in a bit."

You wave casually at him as you walk away to the bench and he leaves to probably help interrogate some of those nasty gang members.

You slump down onto the uncomfortable bench, which is usually used for people waiting for others to be released or people ready to be incarcerated. Right now, you are the sole occupant. You are also bored as fuck, still. You pull out your phone and mess around for probably forever.

You've pestered Terezi three separate times, your sister Rose once, Dirk and his auto responder about five times, and checked out mspaint adventures to read Problem Sleuth again before someone joins you.
Your new friend doesn't even look at you when he sits down next to you. You glance at this new person from the corner of your eye, behind your shades.

He's a troll, that much is pretty clear. Gray skin, dark hair, yellow eyes, the works. Only, you can't see his horns. They're probably somewhere under that messy, fly away hair. It's the most extreme case of bedhead you've ever seen. You wonder if he did that on purpose, or if it was naturally like that. Probably natural, no amount of gel could create that monstrosity.

He was sitting cross legged, leaning over a book with a heavily worn out spine. The book itself looks pretty thick, and he has it opened about halfway through. You get a pretty nice view of the cover, and you almost can't stop yourself from laughing. You manage, though.

It...it looks like one of those books Rose read a couple years ago when she was going through that phase. The intensive, steamy romance novel phase, complete with vampires and bodice ripping. This one was clearly troll style, as all the people on the cover (and there were a lot more than the standard two of a conventional human romance novel) were gray and clutching each other tightly and pulling on clothes and just...you can't...

oh god.

You snort, you can't help it. He looks...so...fucking...serious. Like, what the fuck? Suddenly, the book snaps closed and the troll is looking at you like his gaze alone could disembowel you. At any rate, he looks like he'd like to. More importantly, he's using his thumb as a bookmark. And you almost can't handle it. He saved his fucking page. In that clearly trash novel.

"You want something, assmunch?" He asks you loudly, a challenge edging his voice.

You smirk. "Nothing, dude, chill. Just...why the fuck are you reading that?"

"Reading what? This?" He looks down at his book and it's clear he doesn't understand why you're asking. Or why you're laughing. His confusion makes him defensive. "It happens to be one of my favorites. You got a problem with that, douchebag?"

"Nah, not me, personally. Just like, why? I mean, you're a dude, you are clearly a dude, why are you reading a chick book?"

He's glaring at you, practically snarling. You can see all those sharp troll teeth. And his eyes, the irises are still gray, like his skin. From that, plus general appearance, you can tell he's roughly your age. Give or take a year, maybe.

"It. Is not. A chick book." He practically spits at you. "Just because it has a romantic plot doesn't make it automatically feminine. Romance is the fucking backbone of culture and society for trolls, humans, and carapaces. Believe me, I've done my fucking homework. Why is something this important only allowed to be studied by a species females? Why is it only considered suitable for females, only half of the population, I might add, to learn about the intricacies of something as important as romance? Fucking...just...ugh, shit, can I just read my book in peace, you bulge sucking shades clearly designed for women wearing prick."

He opens the book again in a huff, and for a moment all you can do is fucking stare at him. You weren't really expecting the full on rage tantrum on such a stupid topic. "Hey, don't insult the shades, bro. You can't insult my shades for being feminine if I can't make fun of your book for being feminine. You hypocrite."

He's glaring at you again, book splayed open on his lap so you can't look at the cover and giggle anymore. "Did you want something, nookbreath, or are you just talking to hear yourself speak?"

You shrug. "I dunno. I'm bored, and you're the only not busy person here with, like, half a functioning brain."

He sneers at you.

"Dude, that's a compliment. Take it."

The troll is still staring at you, angry as shit. You wonder if he's always like that, or if he's just extremely agitated at you and the situation he's probably in with whoever he's waiting for.

"Okay, fuck, sorry. Hey, I'm Dave."

You hold out your hand for him to shake. He looks at it as if debating whether or not to bite it. You withdraw, but give him a double finger gun instead. His sneer deepens as you shoot imaginary bullets at him.

"This is usually the part where you tell me your name."

"And why the fuck would I want to do that?" He growls. His voice sounds acidic, poisonous.

You shrug. "To be a polite motherfucker?"

His eye twitches. You swear it does. The book is still open on his lap, and from the way he's clutching it, you fear for the book's life. If he grips it any tighter he's going to rip it in half.

Then he sighs the loudest sigh you've ever heard, his entire body falling into the action, folding forward until you think he's going to just collapse onto the bench. It's honestly kind of fun to watch, he's acting like it's the hardest thing he's ever had to do in his life.

"Name?" You ask as patronizing as possible.

He's glowering at you still.

"Karkat." He responds wearily.

At least he's answering you. There's that.

"That's a weird name, but you're a troll, so..." You trail off with a shrug. "is your last name weird, too?"

"You know what, fuck you. Maybe I think your name is weird. But you're a human, so..." He shrugs sarcastically back at you. "Fuck you."

"Wow, okay. Well, I'll let you know that my last name is, in fact, a little on the weird side. At least it's not a quote unquote normal name. It's Strider. Dave Strider. Sup."

"I'm..." he sighs heavily again, rubbing a hand across his face, over his eyes. "My name's Vantas."

You nod. "Karkat Vantas. Hey. So, what are you in for?"

He's practically cringing at you, ready to ignore you and go back to his book instead.

"Relax, dude. I was joking. Clearly you're not actually a fucking suspect in anything, or you'd be handcuffed to this shitty bench."

"You're damn right I'm not a suspect in anything." He's almost smirking to himself. "If I'd done anything illegal you better believe I wouldn't get fucking caught."

"Wow, that's a lot of confidence coming from a guy who doesn't look like he'd last a minute in a gang fight."

He scoffed. "You don't have a fucking clue what you're talking about, asswipe."

"What? You wanna fucking go?" You say sarcastically.

The troll, Karkat, that's his name, puts his book down between the both of you and sits up. "You know what? Yeah, yeah I fucking do."

He stands up, and he does look ready to rumble with you, which you find hilarious because you were clearly joking. On top of that, he's tiny. Like, so fucking tiny. He's maybe shorter than Terezi (who's about as tall as your father), and she's one of the shortest people you know. He's a little ball of furious energy, you can practically feel him buzzing with anger. You want to laugh at him.

Karkat begins to stomp away from you, towards the doors. "Well?" He yells at you. "Are you coming or what, doucheass?"

You finally let yourself laugh, and it's not the quiet chuckle you thought it would be. It's a full on, gut busting laugh. You honestly can't help yourself, even as you watch Karkat's face darken considerably as his rage bubbles closer to the surface.

"What the shit are you laughing at?" He's practically shrieking. "Get the fuck up, get outside, and fight me like a man, you shitlord!"

He pushes the door open and waits to usher you outside. You want to keep laughing at this guy, it's almost physically hurting you not to. This guy is so lucky it's you he's talking to and not some other poor bastard. If you were anyone else, there's not a doubt in your mind that Karkat would be arrested near immediately with how he was talking. But it's you, and the cops that are sitting at their desks, clearly watching the two of you interact as opposed to doing their jobs know you and your family. They know you're a trouble maker. They also know you're a windbag who's all bark and no bite. You're not going to do anything, and they know it.

Karkat doesn't know it, though. He has no idea how easy he has it right now, picking a fight with you. That lucky bastard.

"Karkat, Karkat, holy fuck, I was kidding!" You get up and approach him slowly, like you've seen your father do a million times to deranged criminals and your sister Roxy do to injured stray cats. "Now why don't you sit back down and read that book you brought with you instead of drawing so much attention to yourself? Come on."

He doesn't move, just stares suspiciously at you and your gesturing hand. You sigh and reach out a hand that he flinches away from in disgust.

"Don't fucking touch me!"

"Then go sit back down and wait for whoever the fuck you're waiting for."

He glares at you. "Make me, fuckass."

"Okay, fine." You shrug and turn back to the bench.

You can feel him watching you from where he's letting out all the sweet, sweet air conditioning, and you try to satisfy his curiosity by making your movements as exaggerated as possible. You pick up his book and scrounge around in your pocket until you find a pen. You click it dramatically and watch as his eyes widen.

"Strider, what the fuck are you doing?" He looks comically panicked. You love it.

"I'm gonna draw dicks in your book."

You place pen to paper, and before you can even begin to draw the tip he's launched himself away from the door and at you. You knew trolls were fast, but you weren't expecting him to be that fast. You almost drop your pen, but nope, you've got a firm fucking grip on the thing. And Karkat's got a firm fucking grip on your wrist, simultaneously trying to pry your hand open with his fingers. Damn, his claws fucking hurt. But you can deal.

You're no longer in total control of your hand, with Karkat's wrapped around it tightly and his other arm reaching around you at a weird, probably uncomfortable angle to get his book out of your reach. Your swinging your arm like a wild man while also trying to keep the both of you balanced on the bench, which is fucking difficult shit, to say the least.

When your pen slashes a big red gash across the page, you swear it's not your fault. It's a little late now to tell him you were mostly bluffing. You were probably going to only draw, like, one penis, very small, and near the end of the book. And really, from the bit you read, the book wouldn't really notice the addition of one more fucking penis. This book was trashier than you thought. This book is basically porn.

You want to tease him about it, but you're a little busy right now.

He starts punching you with the hand that's not holding yours. It's still at a weird angle, so it doesn't hurt as much as you think it probably would in other circumstances, and also it's just your shoulder, so it's all good. But then he starts biting you, and jesus h. fucking christ, that hurts like a bitch. You're probably bleeding.

"Ow! What the fuck? Karkat, get off me!" You try to shake him off and shoo him away with the hand holding the book. Which isn't your best idea, but at least he stops punching and biting you to try to get it.

Except now he's climbing on you to get at the book, which also kind of sucks because now there's a very sharp knee cap digging in your back.

"No, you wrecked my favorite book, ass hat! I'm not getting off of you until I get my book back, Strider, and some compensation for the damage!"

"Compensation for the damage? You shitting me? It's one line! It didn't even do anything, you can totally still read it! Which is too bad, because it's fucking garbage."

"Take that the fuck back! It's a great example of quadrant vacillation, which you would know if you actually took the time to fucking read it!"

"That doesn't stop it from being garbage. And why would I care about quadrant vacillation, I don't fucking do quadrants."

"Of course you don't, you piece of human filth. Why don't you educate yourself on alien cultures and expand your horizons a bit, you fucking prude."

"Wow, there's a first. Dave Strider, fucking prude. Well, I'll be honest with you there, Vantas, since apparently we're calling each other by last name, since you have yet to call me Dave-"

"Only people I actually respect get to have first names."

"-shut up, I wasn't done. Any babe who's lucky enough to be a Strider rider isn't gonna go looking for action in other quadrants, I'll tell you that much. Because I'm the whole fucking coolkid package, dude. You aint got nothing on me."

You wink at him, even though you know he can't see it. Or maybe he can, because he goes red in the face.

So he's a rustblood. Not that any of that hemospectrum bullshit matters to you, you just find other bloodcolors interesting. It's usually pretty easy to tell, since most trolls have it broadly displayed on their clothes, along with their signs. It occurs to you now that this particular troll is just wearing gray on black for anonymity.

Interesting.

"Oh my god, just shut the fuck up and give me my book back, Strider!"

"How about no?"

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Fuck you."

"Buy me dinner first."

He lets out this weird strangled groan type of thing and just...gives up and goes boneless against you. He slides effortlessly off of you, off the bench, and to the floor, energy spent.

"Fine." He sighs tiredly. "Fucking keep it. Who even gives a shit? That was stupid. So stupid."

You look down at him from where you're sitting like a normal motherfucker on the bench. He doesn't so much as acknowledge you, not that he could since his face is to the linoleum.

"Um...dude, are you okay?"

He groans but doesn't move. "Are you blind or something? I'm peachy fucking keen. My joy is as vast as those that have experienced the faygo drenched miracles of the mirthful messiahs themselves. This is the best day of my fucking life. I love posting bail for my shitty excuse for friends and waiting an eternity for them in a god awful police station on the world's most uncomfortable bench next to the biggest douche I've ever met in my entire painful fucking existence. Today's the best. I don't know how the universe is going to top this one, definitely in my top ten."

"Ten out of ten, would do it again?"

"Fuck you, but also yes, exactly that."

He's still on the ground, and you still have his book in your hand. You're seriously wondering how this thing survived that brutality that was your combined childishness. This spine is stronger than you thought. You look at the back cover, skipping over the little descriptive blurb, no matter how flowery the language, it's porn. You know it's porn. Why is it even pretending it's not? Whatever. Damn, even better, it's cheap porn. Four dollar porn. You look down at the troll laying on the ground. He looks even smaller when the fight's drained out of him. You don't like it. You crack open the back cover and do what you came to do.

You doodle several dicks all over the back in red ink, write 'dave was here' and then, in the very right hand corner where he would nearly have to take a magnifying glass to see, you leave your chumhandle. You're uncertain about leaving it, which is why you wrote it so small, but you have a good feeling about leaving it. At the very least, it's one more person to keep you from being bored. And he's kind of interesting to mess with, you justify. You hope he's as expressive online as he is in person.

You drop the book on his head.

"I don't want your trash, bro. All yours. I'm gonna have to wash my hands at least ten times tonight to get that filthy, filthy smut off of them. That's at least ten times more than normal, mind you. You made me feel gross, that's how disgusting that book is."

He picks the book up off his head and flops onto his back, staring daggers up at you. "Hey, this might be disgusting trash, but it is my disgusting trash, and I happen to like it. So fuck you sideways with a cactus."

"Ah, so you agree it's trash." You smirk, crossing your arms and feeling superior.

He props himself up on his elbows and rolls his eyes at you. "You said you read part of it before you fucking defiled it with your dumbshit pen. Of course it's trash. I'm not fucking dense, I know the difference between actual garbage and good literature. Just because it's one of my favorites doesn't mean I think it's good."

"So...you know it's bad?"

"To use a human idiom: duh. It's terrible. I've read things better put together in the comments section of youtube. There have been fanfics written by wrigglers that wax poetically better than the flat protagonist of this novel."

"...why would a wriggler write a fanfic? Aren't those, like, troll babies?"

"Exactly. My metaphor makes perfect sense. See what I'm getting at?"

"That book is not only porn, it's cheap, poorly written porn."

"Yes."

"It also happens to be one of your favorites."

"Yes."

"...because it's bad?"

He shrugs, readjusting himself so he's sitting cross legged on the floor and facing you. Karkat is flipping through his book to see if you did anything else to it while he was having his fit.

"No, there's plenty of terrible books out there, and that's a terrible reason to like them. I'm not a fucking masochist. For a trashy book, it actually does a really good job showcasing vacillation, which is really important concerning troll romance. But I mostly like it for sentimental reasons."

There's a weird expression on his face that you can't really read as he continues to carefully flip through the book. He gets to the part you marred with your pen, and he flinches like it was a physical jab at him.
Great. Now you kind of feel bad. Dammit.

You kind of regret drawing on the back now. It had seemed like a great idea at the time.

He continues flipping through it and seems satisfied until...

there it is.

The back page.

He looks at the page, then at you, then at the page again. His expression is virtually blank. Like yours must be right now, or literally any other time ever. You have an awesome poker face.

"Strider, the fuck is this?" He folds the back cover and shoves the book almost directly in your face, so you make eyes to balls contact with your own beautiful work.

"I promised you shlongs and I fucking delivered. What does it look like?"

"...penises, Strider." He says to you slowly, as if you're stupid. "It looks like penises."

He studies the drawings himself, scrutinizing them, feigning intrigue in your masterwork. " 'Dave was here' " he reads, then he looks at you, then his eyes trail dangerously to your lap. He's fucking smirking again. Only this one is closer to a smile than the last one. You don't like where this is going. "I take it these shlongs are actual size?"

"Fuck no." You feel the urge to cross your legs, because he's still fucking looking.

He nods. "Right, right. Clearly they're enlarged to show texture."

He's taking these drawings a lot better than you expected. Then again, you didn't actually wreck the text, which seemed to be where most of his concerns were located. You wish you'd drawn more dicks.

"Okay, fuck you-"

"Buy me dinner first."

That shuts you up for about .2 seconds while you think of a rebuttal. You just had the greatest idea ever, and you have to keep yourself from grinning as you pull your wallet out.

Karkat's staring wide eyed at you, page of red dicks open in his hands. He looks just as panicked as earlier, and it's a beautiful thing. You pull out four dollars.

Karkat goes completely pale, and you swear you can hear him stop breathing. This was an unexpected turn of events.

You slip the four dollars into the book, obscuring a particularly well drawn dong, lift your shades, and wink at him.

"Your place or mine."

He goes from pale gray to red in zero to sixty. He looks so fucking freaked and embarrassed that you're pretty sure you rendered him speechless. Little does he know this is the end of your smooth rope, and you yourself are a little surprised you were able to come up with something that wicked on the fly like that. Usually you're as smooth as chunky peanut butter. But today you are on a roll. You are butter on a roll.

Because you're that smooth. And also on a roll. Fuck, where were you going with this?

Karkat picks up the four dollars carefully and tries to give them back to you, but you raise your hands so they're out of reach for him on the floor, and he refuses to get up. After a minute or two of playing dollar dodge, he gives up on placing the bills in your hands and just lets them drop unceremoniously into your lap.

"Neither place. Why don't you go fuck yourself." Then he turns around so he's not facing you anymore, and you can see his shoulders hunch as he opens his book again and ignores you.

You lean over him and hold your breath as you read a little over his shoulder. Shit, it's been awhile since you took troll anatomy for health class, you kind of forgot how weird and alien and wiggly their parts were. Also that sex involved buckets. And apparently a lot of biting. And some bleeding. Ah, this was blackrom, probably. That would make sense. At least you hope it's blackrom and not some insane S and M type of deal. You stretch an arm out and carefully place the money in the fold of the spine so it functions as a bookmark.

He immediately snaps the book shut and glares up at you. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Compensation." You say matter of factly. "You know, for damages? You were going on and on about it earlier while also biting me in a fashion pretty similar to the one you're reading right now. Pretty sure you remember. Say, you weren't trying to get me into your hate sex quadrant, were you?"

"Please." He spits back at you. "That would require me having at least an ounce of respect towards you. Which I don't. That was just platonic dislike to you as a person."

"Alright, good to know. Anyway, there you go, the full price of your beautiful, trashy hate porn right there. Fully covered."

Karkat opens the book again and counts the money. Then puts it back and just stares at it. You're not sure whether you expect a thank you or a fuck you. A fuck you seems more likely.

You get neither. "It's 3.99 plus tax."

"Yeah, and that's four dollars there. I rounded up, you can repay me the penny later."

"Plus tax." He repeats.

You raise an eyebrow at him. "You want me to pay the tax?"

He nods. "I'm going to have to pay the tax. You said you were reimbursing me, so that means you pay the price. The full price. That means plus tax."

"Okay, okay, fine. Fuck, you're lucky I'm so generous. What is tax, anyway, like, thirteen cents?"

He shrugs. "Fuck if I know. Sure, sure, thirteen cents."

You dig through your wallet for the elusive change, it takes you longer than you want to admit to find the dime and pennies you need, but when you do you just drop them so they bounce off of Karkat and roll a little bit so he has to get up and get them his fucking self.

"There you go, Vantasshole, four dollars and thirteen cents. Happy now?"

He gets up and chases a penny that rolled towards your dad's chair. He looks at you as he gets down on his hands and knees to retract the thing from where it got stuck under the wheel. "I'm never happy."

You scoff. "Yeah, whatever."

Karkat puts the change in his pocket and sits back down next to you on the bench, cracking open his book again in another attempt to actually read it. You're ready to leave him alone for a couple minutes until there is a repeat of tonight's earlier bustle; only in the opposite direction.

There's a gaggle of policemen grumbling to themselves as they dejectedly trail two trolls and one of the smallest carapaces you've ever seen. It hits you like a ton of bricks that these must be the guys you were talking to your dad about earlier. The members of the Midnight Crew. Holy shit, what the fuck were they doing out already?

You wonder if Karkat knows what's going on. He wasn't here when they arrived, so he hadn't borne witness to the hullabaloo that took place. This would be a fun thing to talk about. You could brag about your dad catching some gang members, that's bound to pique people's interest, especially the interest of other bored teens stuck waiting for people in a police station. You're actually a little excited about this.

The trio is moving incredibly slow, you think, considering one of them is this towering mass of a troll. You think it might be for the sake of the other two, though, since one of the trolls was wheelchair bound and the carapace had the stumpiest legs you've ever seen. Only, yeah, it feels like it's a deliberate action by all three of them as they approach the doors.
No, not the doors. The bench.

You spare a glance over at Karkat. He'd snapped his book shut when the cloud of blue uniforms had wafted in, and his eyes are trained on the three as they advanced. His eyes are...different than you expected.
Confusion you'd get. If he recognized the fuckers from the papers or something, you'd even understand fear. But no, he looked...agitated. Yeah, he looked agitated more than anything else.

And his expression? You'd been maybe expecting it to be blank or a little freaked. But once again your expectaions were subverted and you're left staring at one of the sternest, most frustrated faces you've ever seen.

The three stop just short of the bench, and Karkat stands. Should you stop him? No, he looks fucking determined to do whatever it is he's gonna do. And you're kind of rooted to your seat right now, anyway. Karkat tucks his book under his arm and stomps over to them, and you're dying to see what happens next.

He stands in front of the three of them, and you again think about how short he is. The only one he's actually physically taller than is the little carapace dude, the one in the wheelchair would be significantly taller than Karkat if he wasn't, you know, fucking sitting. This doesn't stop Karkat from glaring intimidatingly at all three of them with a gaze that could melt plastic.

Only the wheelchair guy looks ashamed when Karkat looks at him, and that doesn't seem to sit well with Karkat. He beckons the taller one down to him so they're face to face, and you notice he's smiling like an idiot and wearing the weirdest face paint you've ever seen. You don't have a good feeling about this. Maybe you should call him back to the bench before he does something stupid that he'll regret.
Before you can even so much as open your mouth, Karkat fucking smacks the gang members with his fucking book.

You're left speechless and slightly stunned, as are several of the officers in your vicinity.

"What. The. Fuck. Is. Wrong. With. You!?" He scolds as he continues to hit them. "Who the fuck gets apprehended for fucking sopor possession? Are your pans that fucking rotted? What the shit?"

"Sorry, bro." Says the big one, grinning widely in Karkat's face.

Karkat smacks him again and jabs a finger at his nose. "Don't you 'sorry bro' me, Gamzee. This is probably your damn fault! This is the third fucking time you've done this shit this month! You gotta fucking learn, douchebag, not everything is motherfucking miracles and faygo rainbows all the time. I'm not always gonna be able to bail you out. Fuck, I probably shouldn't anymore after this. Maybe then you'll get it."

The big guy's smile never falters during Karkat's reprimand, and when he finishes the big guy just pats him on the face. "I feel you, best friend. Do whatever you think the messiahs want you to, bro."

Karkat sighs and shoos the hand away from his face. "Yeah, yeah, motherfucking miracles, whatever. Go stand over there and think about what you did."

He points over to an empty desk, and the big troll stumbles away and does exactly as he's told.

This is weird.

Karkat turns his attention to the other two and gives them a final bop on the head with the thick spine of his book. Both flinch and rub the sore spots on their heads, looking up at Karkat and waiting for their own reprimands.

"I expected better from both of you assholes. Tav, what the fuck? You said you had a handle on this!"

"I...I did!" The wheelchair troll-god, pick a different identifier, his horns are fucking huge, go with that-the giant horned troll defends weakly. "Things just got a little...out of hand. Gamzee was high when I got there!"

Karkat sighs again and drags a hand across his face. "Of course he was. When is he not? But Tavros, seriously? Just because he's high as a fucking kite connected to sputnik doesn't mean you have to join him, you know that, right? That's called peer pressure and it's stupid as fuck. Grow a fucking posture pole and stand up for yourself."

"...w-was the pun intended?" The troll with the crazy huge horns asked quietly.

"What?" Karkat responded, then shook his head. "No, no. Fuck, no. If I was going to insult you about your fucking disability I'd do it in a way more roundabout way, you know that. What I meant was, get some fucking confidence and just, you know, don't be a dumbass." Karkat shrugs at the end to accentuate his point. He should be a public speaker, you think to yourself. You almost tell him as much, but don't because that would be interrupting and you don't want to be hit with a book. "Now get the fuck out of my face."

The troll rolls away and joins the giant still standing in front of the desk. Meanwhile, Karkat stares down at the little carapace, tapping his foot agitatedly at him. The little guy doesn't even look phased, and actually waves up at Karkat. He waves. You feel sorry for the little dude, you have a feeling Karkat is going to verbally eviscerate him, while possibly continuing to assault him with a paperback.

Karkat squeezes the bridge of his nose. "Deuce, what....just...why?"

He seems to have a surprising lack of words for the carapace. The carapace has zero rebuttals.

"You're not even high! Why the fuck are you even here?"

The little carapace just blinks at him, and Karkat groans.

"What the actual fuck? You're an adult, I shouldn't have to babysit you! How did you even get arrested? What the shit did you do?"

The carapace says nothing again and just shrugs. Something must have clicked in Karkat's brain, because suddenly he's looking down at the carapace with the most weary look you've ever seen.

"You hit someone with your fucking cane, didn't you?"

The silence must be enough of an answer, because Karkat continues.

"Was it an officer?"

No answer, but the silence is plenty enough, because Karkat groans again and buries his face in his hands.

"I don't have time for this shit! I am a teenager, it's a Friday, posting bail at a police station is the last place I should be right now! Fuck you for getting in the way of me doing nothing, Deuce. And fuck the other two for being stupid dumb fucks with less than half a functioning pan between them if they thought calling me was a good idea."

"But you did come." Calls the bighorned troll by the desk.

"Yes, but you didn't know that I was going to!" Karkat snaps without turning around. You see bighorns shrink back into his chair.

"It was a motherfucking miracle." Says the tall troll.

"I am so fed up with this shit." Karkat looks completely done as he rolls his eyes at the two behind him and turns his attention back on the carapace. "Don't think I'm not telling Slick when we get home."

This seems to get the reaction Karkat wanted, as the little carapace is shaking his head no and gestating like a mad man.

"Oh, and while we're at it, give me your cane. I'm confiscating it."

Fuck, he sounds like a mom. He's talking to members of a notorious gang and he sounds like a mom.

Karkat holds out his hand, and the carapace looks like he's not going to obey for a moment.

"I'm waiting." Karkat says impatiently, and the carapace drops the weirdest looking cane or whatever the fuck it is into Karkat's waiting hand.

Karkat looks...less than pleased with his bounty. No, scratch that, he looks fucking disgusted. "Why do you even have this? Where the fuck did you get a bull penis cane? That's...that's fucking disgusting."

Is that what that is? Fucking disgusting is the understatement of the century.

Karkat swallows thickly. "Alright, assholes, we're leaving. Say goodbye to the nice officers who had to babysit your sorry asses."

The three raise their hands and wave goodbye as Karkat, without any warning whatsoever, grabs ahold of the two troll's ears and begins to drag them away. "Holy fuck, I was being sarcastic. Don't fucking wave goodbye to them, what's wrong with you?"

You manage to find it in you to call out a quick farewell. "See you around, Vantas."

"Not if I have any say in it, Strider." He retorts on his way out.

Then he's gone, dragging three gang members with him.

You turn to the officers who all saw what just went down.

They look almost as surprised as you feel.

"Um...anyone wanna fucking explain what just happened?"