[Yeah, sorry, dude, with no other sensory input coming in, asking Dave not to see that is kind of like asking someone with eyes not to see what's roughly one foot in front of them.
The thing about death by canekind is it feels a hell of a lot like death by bladekind, and Karkat's memory smashes right into Dave's like two icebergs, or maybe the better comparison is two Titanics, opening long scrapes in each other's hulls and letting the icy Atlantic in. Dave actually gasps in Wart's body and yanks his brain away for a second, shocked numb, and clutches that weird red thing sticking out of Wart's chest.
There's one in the back, too, just to, you know. Make it look more like he's been bisected by triangle.
It only lasts a second, though, and maybe that's because it only lasted a second, from what Dave remembers. There was an instant of blinding, world-ending pain and then he woke up in a bed with a mom who wasn't his, and...
And eventually, his friends showed up, and it wasn't so bad, being dead and over forever, if he couldn't change anything about it.
Dave breathes, and the wave of regret and grief that emanates out from him is cool, soft, like a ripple in a freshwater pool. He finds Karkat again, presses ghost-hands to his temples to steady him, reminds him of the smell of the woods, of the road.]
Hey. Hey, listen.
[It starts out simply enough, just a quiet, repetitive plinking of guitar strings, but slowly, it shifts into something like this. He invites Karkat along with him as he loses himself in the feel of fingers on vinyl, as he lets every snare beat fall where he wants it, as he remembers heart-stilling chiming sounds into existence.
It's okay. It's okay, Karkat, let it go. Dave won't leave him, not through any of it.]
action + psychic I/O, [S] Game Over x2 combob
The thing about death by canekind is it feels a hell of a lot like death by bladekind, and Karkat's memory smashes right into Dave's like two icebergs, or maybe the better comparison is two Titanics, opening long scrapes in each other's hulls and letting the icy Atlantic in. Dave actually gasps in Wart's body and yanks his brain away for a second, shocked numb, and clutches that weird red thing sticking out of Wart's chest.
There's one in the back, too, just to, you know. Make it look more like he's been bisected by triangle.
It only lasts a second, though, and maybe that's because it only lasted a second, from what Dave remembers. There was an instant of blinding, world-ending pain and then he woke up in a bed with a mom who wasn't his, and...
And eventually, his friends showed up, and it wasn't so bad, being dead and over forever, if he couldn't change anything about it.
Dave breathes, and the wave of regret and grief that emanates out from him is cool, soft, like a ripple in a freshwater pool. He finds Karkat again, presses ghost-hands to his temples to steady him, reminds him of the smell of the woods, of the road.]
Hey. Hey, listen.
[It starts out simply enough, just a quiet, repetitive plinking of guitar strings, but slowly, it shifts into something like this. He invites Karkat along with him as he loses himself in the feel of fingers on vinyl, as he lets every snare beat fall where he wants it, as he remembers heart-stilling chiming sounds into existence.
It's okay. It's okay, Karkat, let it go. Dave won't leave him, not through any of it.]