[Hands on his face. Gentle scents. Music. Karkat covers his mouth with a gloved hand (why the fuck hasn't he taken those off), forces his eyes open just to remind himself that no, Gamzee is not here to jeer at him, then closes them again, listening with desperate focus. Dave's here. He's fine. Everything's fine. Sure he's inhabiting the body of the biggest douchebag to FUCKING EVER unironically assume he'd ever be welcome in their group, but Dave's here and Karkat is totally fucking fine.
... He's trying to be fine. He will be. Really. Just. Just give him a minute.
He listens—"listens" and tries to imagine he's, fuck, what, on a pile? Yes, sitting on a pile with Dave, their foreheads resting together, Dave's hands on his face, don't think about kissing him, don't think about kissing him, don't think about goddammit shit fuck, SITTING ON A PILE IN A TOTALLY INNOCENT, PALE WAY AND NOT INITIATING ANY SLOPPY INTERSPECIES MAKEOUTS OF ANY SORT.
Karkat slaps himself again.]
Dave, say "Gallade" again before I fucking lose it.
[Seriously. He's going to lose it. Any second now.]
[Wait, what was that? Shit, he was concentrating too hard, he missed it. Okay, well, whatever.]
Gallaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaade. Gallade, lade, lalaaade.
[No matter what he tries to say, only the syllables of his species come out. He sighs. This, actually, is the only downside of being Wart. That and being a lot shorter.
He's calm again, but that stabbing pain (haha) sure lowered his mood a lot. He tries to hold onto the memory of the music, and night trickles through to Karkat, nights he was eleven years old pressing padded headphones against his ears with nothing but this song in them, telling himself it'd be okay, someone loved him (would love him, someday, if he made it) like that, like he was worth something just for existing.]
Man, this Pokétalk thing is really crimping my style.
[—He didn't notice? He didn't notice, thank god, thank god, moirallegiance saved. Hahahahahahahaa fuck Karkat wishes he had an actual pile to collapse into. With Dave. For cuddles only.]
At least it'll be easier to rap? You rhyme automatically.
[Yeah, he's slightly hysterical from relief, what of it. His mouth is doing some twitchy, spasmodic pseudo-smile thing, too, which is probably a bad sign, and he thinks he'd probably like to puke somewhere, but it's fine. Everything's fine.
... Dave feeling like that isn't fine, though, and Karkat's "smile" drops immediately as he resumes stalking toward that voice. It isn't far, he thinks, and sure enough, once he turns the corner...
There. Finally.
Crushing the impulse to run up to the Pokémon and hug him, Karkat instead approaches very sedately and, okay yeah no, he's closing that gap as quickly as his poor control over Dirk's stupidly long legs allows and embracing the fuck out of Dave/Wart. He has a feeling there are certain things he shouldn't say with Dirk's voice, just because, but he is absolutely thinking as loudly and as clearly as he can, Pale for you. Shoosh.
[Dave picks up on Karkat's closeness just in time to start to turn and then, whup, hug. He can't help it, he can't see but he knows it's Dirk and his first instinct is to compare, to brace himself for a second just in case it feels like big-powerful-steel-faced Bro without an inch of give to him, but it doesn't. It's fine. It's not the same as hugging Karkat except it is, because it is Karkat, and he's hugging back and snuggling in like he belongs even if it's a little bit new.]
Hey.
[This is a lot better. He's sorry about the stupid chest triangle poking Karkat in Dirk's ribs, and he has to be careful with his head so he doesn't smack anybody in the snout with his crest thing, but this is better. Stuff is weird without Karkat around.]
I bet you could pick me up now. Have you tried lifting anything yet?
[Definitely weird. Just. So fucking weird. A universe without Dave just isn't worth contemplating. Oh god, he heard that, didn't he? Time to change the subject, a task made far simpler by the fact that Dave said what.]
Are you fucking implying that Dirk is stronger than I am? Fuck you. Fuck you and also no, I have not. I mean, I lifted his backpack, but that doesn't count.
[Shut up, it so doesn't. He does passingly consider pulling back from Dave just enough to recheck Wart's dimensions, but since that means, well, pulling back, he doesn't. He really could not give fewer shits about poking himself with chest triangles right now, don't even fuss.]
Besides, I gave you enough hoofbeast rides when you were a wiggler. Are you trying to squeeze more out of me? Because it's not going to fucking happen.
[Little psychic shiver of amusement. It's kind of like Dave's regular sotto voce laughter anyway, a thing more sensed than heard.]
But Katkat...!
[Just drapes blindly over this asshole in another asshole's body. Come on, come on, carry him, he's like made out of fairy wishes and spun sugar, he can't weigh that much. (He weighs 114 pounds.)]
Katkat, I'm scared of the dark. Pleeeeeeease?
[He's still snickering mentally, which sort of ruins the effect, but, meh.]
[He's trying to sound angry, he is, but there's no disguising his sheer delight at this shift in Dave's mood. It's one thing to see when he's cheerful or amused, something else entirely to actually feel it. Karkat's resolve may be melting just a little, even if Dave probably doesn't mean it.]
It's morning, you shit. And don't call me Katkat. One-sweep-old you was cute enough for it, but, all respect to Wart, a Gallade isn't. Why would you want me to carry you, anyway?
[They aren't that far from town, are they? ... Wait, shit, are they?]
Um, why wouldn't I? Getting carried is like the pinnacle of hugs. Squishy cuddle times and ecologically friendly transportation, who the fuck would not take advantage of that two-for-one Sunday bargain deal.
[He relents, though, and starts to look for Karkat's hand. Well. "Look." It involves, for some reason, a lot of face-patting and overplayed incompetence.]
Also, fuck you, it's dark from my perspective. Where are your digits, I require them, chop chop.
[No, they are not far from town. And if they were, Dave wouldn't ask Karkat to carry him, shit would just be rude, Wart has legs, he can walk.]
[Pinnacle of hugs. This fucking idiot. Karkat is nearly tempted to suggest that Dave try carrying him if it's so fucking magical, but then he remembers that oh wait right, he has pride.
... Sort of has pride. Wow, okay, that took a turn. Let's move on.]
You don't get to bitch about it being dark when you wear sunglasses all the fucking time.
[Including when he's indoors at night, and yes, fine, being blindfolded may be different from wearing sunglasses, but the distinction is one Karkat doesn't really want to mention given the reasons why Dave is blindfolded. Dirk isn't... actually that hard to look at for other reasons, none of which he's thinking about, but then the urge to plant a fist in his face probably negates those. Mostly.
He tolerates/enjoys the ridiculous face patting for all of a second more before catching Dave's hand in his own and giving it a small squeeze.]
Are you done flailing around yet?
[... he could probably stand to sound a little less nauseatingly affectionate, but oh well.]
[It's kind of funny. When they're feeling bad, they both drag each other down to the bottom, but things like this? Karkat feels so...so warm in his head, and it makes Dave brighten and that makes Karkat happier, and it's just...
It's nice. If experiencing every modicum of conscious thought like a sound or a touch weren't so goddamn distracting and headache-inducing, Dave could almost get used to it.
He squeezes Karkat's hand gently back, interested in how different it feels against Wart's little green palm--but then, it's sort of not Karkat's hand, so maybe that makes sense. Man, it'd kinda be neat if they turned back at different times...]
Am I ever done, dude?
[So, yeah, he's done. He turns his head a little, remembers again that there's little point to trying to look around, and then dips his head at Karkat.]
Okay, (goodfriend-trust-pride-silly-safe-wanttotouch-sosodear) Karkat. Make with the seeing-eye and let's bounce.
[This had better not be the start of some kind of Strider flailing epidemic, that's all he can fucking say. Presumably, once Dave is no longer blindfolded... if either of them even want to risk him not being blindfolded. Ugh. Forget it.
Karkat's rapidly blackening mood lifts again at that series of thoughts/feelings/impressions, at least, but not without a quiet snort. Seeing-eye what, exactly? Some inexplicable human thing, probably, if the trend holds true.]
We agreed no puddles, but neither of us said anything about tripping you flat on your fucking face.
[... except for how unfair it would be to Wart if he were to be seriously injured by that. Karkat wouldn't do it to regular Dave, either, but that might depend on how thoroughly annoying he's being. Maybe.]
I'd sense your malicious intent before you could go through with it, dicknoodle. The only one taking a pratfall here would be you.
[...Though, he's getting the sense that maybe he leaks more than he picks up on? Shit.]
...Probably.
[His little hand tightens in Karkat's. He's not afraid, really--how can he be when it's Karkat--but he is blind and it's slightly unnerving how much he suddenly doesn't know about what's around him.]
Come on, you wouldn't do that to Wart. Anyway, you gotta lead, dude, I have no idea how to get back to town like this.
[Dave, why did you have to mention human dicks. Maybe both of them should avoid all mention of genitalia from this point onward, even if that probably robs both of them of, say, twenty percent of their vocabulary. Or maybe that's just Karkat. Fuck, is it always this hard to focus or is he just hyper-aware of eVERY SINGLE FUCKING THOUGHT NOW BECAUSE SOME BLOND ASSHOLE IS LISTENING IN ON THEM.
It could be worse, he supposes. He doesn't think he'd be able to look Jade in the eye for a sweep if she ever saw into his head, however complicated his feelings for Dave have become.]
Wart maybe, but you?
[Why is he even trying. He does get on with the leading thing, though, his attention mostly on Dave... and where Dave is stepping, the area surrounding him, his proximity to other objects. If focusing on sensory data helps Dave to "see" better, it's the least he can do even if it feels overly intimate. Is that what he'd meant by palekink?]
You insult me. As if a man of my caliber would think through anything, ever.
[It's less that he's listening and more that he's just aware, like being in another room while someone's having a phone conversation, aware of the rises and falls in tone but not the words. Now that he has to concentrate on walking and talking rather than exploring Karkat's mindscape, Dave just gets impressions. He thinks that's a flicker of Jade, maybe? And before that, that was exaggerated yelling, probably aimed at him.
It's not as loud as the concern, though. No, loud isn't the word, it's just. Clear. Karkat's focused on him, and the attention's coming through, the care. Like always, it makes Dave feel a little warm and shivery inside, very aware of things like his (Wart's?) heartbeat.]
Come on, it's not like people keep me around for my intellect. If they did, Rose would be out of a brainy blonde shtick, and I can't do that to my own sister. Branding is important.
[And he is, a little, but he's mostly still trying to make certain that Dave isn't about to collide with anything. Maybe they'll get back to the hotel without incident after all? Who the fuck is he kidding, it's all going to go pear-shaped eventually. He just has to make sure he doesn't lose his fucking head again when that happens.]
People don't keep you around for your looks, either. Hate to break it to you. Why did you think you were so popular?
Whoa, you take that filthy slander back right the fuck now.
[The response is so automatic he only registers popular? (a brush of surprise-pleasure-uncertainty) a second after he replies, but he apparently doesn't find that worthy of comment--or, more likely, of risking the vulnerability of letting anyone know he didn't think he was popular.]
People want me for my body exclusively. Multitudes gaze upon my pasty chicken legs and whisper benedictions upon them, blessing all forces that be for the opportunity to bear witness to someone so goddamn fly.
[The problem with Dave not letting anyone know that he didn't think he was popular is that Karkat is fully fucking aware that Dave didn't think he was popular. He's also fully aware of what that little mishmash of emotions barely heard (felt?) had been for, and there's an answering rush of warmth/affection that he remembers only too late that he should try and hide. They have reputations to maintain, goddammit. Sort of.
Actually, wait, hang on.]
Have you worn shorts even once since arriving on this fucking planet?
[How are people seeing said pasty chicken legs, exactly. Please explain.]
[Oh no, no, stop that, that shit turns Dave to goo and he can't hide it when everything he's feeling gets broadcast like he's National Public Radio. It's a weird enough sensation without sharing it, like an accidental brush somewhere tender, somewhere that's still not used to touch, like a tickle on his heart.
(Okay, that was gay.)
He curls Wart's tiny fingers around Karkat-Dirk's and wills the blushing schoolgirl feelings far, far away, please. Please, he's gotta get through this somehow.]
Why must you ruin an awesome verbal riff by insisting on literal interpretation.
[A heavy, put-upon mental sigh. And an audible one, too, for good measure.]
No, Karkat, I don't own shorts. Shorts are for weenie children and John. Do I look like John to you. No.
[... There just may be a fleeting and suspiciously clear mental image of Dave wearing a pair of knee-length shorts and a sleeveless shirt, but Karkat buries it as quickly as fucking possible with more sensory data from their surroundings: the crunch of the dirt road beneath his feet, the faint breeze sifting through his hair (Strider hair is fucking weird, how is it this thin?), the way Wart's hand fits in hiWHY IS THIS NOT WORKING.
Briefly, he entertains the notion of slapping himself again, but as satisfying as it would be because fuck Dirk anyway, he somehow refrains. For now. God, maybe everything about these few days in someone else's body can be mutually forgotten between the two of them as "shit too embarrassing to admit happened." They hadn't expanded the category lately, might as well fix that.]
You are so fucking lucky I'm not going to tell him you said that. He'd probably buy you a pair and find some way to make you wear them.
[By, what, hiding all his other pairs of pants somewhere? The prankster's ways are unknown to Karkat, but the past few weeks have been nothing if not EXCESSIVELY FUCKING EDUCATIONAL in that respect.]
In that case, I would wear them just for the irony. Whatever shorts John buys me would have a humongous chance of being fuckin' hilarious and I would own that shit like a druglord in Slumtown.
[Knee-length shorts and a sleeveless shirt, you say? The rather showier image in Dave's own head comes complete with a backing track. NICE LEGS, DAISY DUKES, MAKES A MAN GO *whistle*. Also, there are cowboy boots and a knotted shirt. Basically, this was a bad idea.
Dave laughs silently again, John-fond and amused and self-conscious.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
action + psychic I/O
... He's trying to be fine. He will be. Really. Just. Just give him a minute.
He listens—"listens" and tries to imagine he's, fuck, what, on a pile? Yes, sitting on a pile with Dave, their foreheads resting together, Dave's hands on his face, don't think about kissing him, don't think about kissing him, don't think about goddammit shit fuck, SITTING ON A PILE IN A TOTALLY INNOCENT, PALE WAY AND NOT INITIATING ANY SLOPPY INTERSPECIES MAKEOUTS OF ANY SORT.
Karkat slaps himself again.]
Dave, say "Gallade" again before I fucking lose it.
[Seriously. He's going to lose it. Any second now.]
action + psychic I/O
Gallaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaade. Gallade, lade, lalaaade.
[No matter what he tries to say, only the syllables of his species come out. He sighs. This, actually, is the only downside of being Wart. That and being a lot shorter.
He's calm again, but that stabbing pain (haha) sure lowered his mood a lot. He tries to hold onto the memory of the music, and night trickles through to Karkat, nights he was eleven years old pressing padded headphones against his ears with nothing but this song in them, telling himself it'd be okay, someone loved him (would love him, someday, if he made it) like that, like he was worth something just for existing.]
Man, this Pokétalk thing is really crimping my style.
action + psychic I/O
At least it'll be easier to rap? You rhyme automatically.
[Yeah, he's slightly hysterical from relief, what of it. His mouth is doing some twitchy, spasmodic pseudo-smile thing, too, which is probably a bad sign, and he thinks he'd probably like to puke somewhere, but it's fine. Everything's fine.
... Dave feeling like that isn't fine, though, and Karkat's "smile" drops immediately as he resumes stalking toward that voice. It isn't far, he thinks, and sure enough, once he turns the corner...
There. Finally.
Crushing the impulse to run up to the Pokémon and hug him, Karkat instead approaches very sedately and, okay yeah no, he's closing that gap as quickly as his poor control over Dirk's stupidly long legs allows and embracing the fuck out of Dave/Wart. He has a feeling there are certain things he shouldn't say with Dirk's voice, just because, but he is absolutely thinking as loudly and as clearly as he can, Pale for you. Shoosh.
Out loud, it's something very different.]
... Sorry.
action + psychic I/O
Hey.
[This is a lot better. He's sorry about the stupid chest triangle poking Karkat in Dirk's ribs, and he has to be careful with his head so he doesn't smack anybody in the snout with his crest thing, but this is better. Stuff is weird without Karkat around.]
I bet you could pick me up now. Have you tried lifting anything yet?
action + psychic I/O
Are you fucking implying that Dirk is stronger than I am? Fuck you. Fuck you and also no, I have not. I mean, I lifted his backpack, but that doesn't count.
[Shut up, it so doesn't. He does passingly consider pulling back from Dave just enough to recheck Wart's dimensions, but since that means, well, pulling back, he doesn't. He really could not give fewer shits about poking himself with chest triangles right now, don't even fuss.]
Besides, I gave you enough hoofbeast rides when you were a wiggler. Are you trying to squeeze more out of me? Because it's not going to fucking happen.
action + psychic I/O
But Katkat...!
[Just drapes blindly over this asshole in another asshole's body. Come on, come on, carry him, he's like made out of fairy wishes and spun sugar, he can't weigh that much. (He weighs 114 pounds.)]
Katkat, I'm scared of the dark. Pleeeeeeease?
[He's still snickering mentally, which sort of ruins the effect, but, meh.]
action + psychic I/O
[He's trying to sound angry, he is, but there's no disguising his sheer delight at this shift in Dave's mood. It's one thing to see when he's cheerful or amused, something else entirely to actually feel it. Karkat's resolve may be melting just a little, even if Dave probably doesn't mean it.]
It's morning, you shit. And don't call me Katkat. One-sweep-old you was cute enough for it, but, all respect to Wart, a Gallade isn't. Why would you want me to carry you, anyway?
[They aren't that far from town, are they? ... Wait, shit, are they?]
action + psychic I/O
[He relents, though, and starts to look for Karkat's hand. Well. "Look." It involves, for some reason, a lot of face-patting and overplayed incompetence.]
Also, fuck you, it's dark from my perspective. Where are your digits, I require them, chop chop.
[No, they are not far from town. And if they were, Dave wouldn't ask Karkat to carry him, shit would just be rude, Wart has legs, he can walk.]
action + psychic I/O
... Sort of has pride. Wow, okay, that took a turn. Let's move on.]
You don't get to bitch about it being dark when you wear sunglasses all the fucking time.
[Including when he's indoors at night, and yes, fine, being blindfolded may be different from wearing sunglasses, but the distinction is one Karkat doesn't really want to mention given the reasons why Dave is blindfolded. Dirk isn't... actually that hard to look at for other reasons, none of which he's thinking about, but then the urge to plant a fist in his face probably negates those. Mostly.
He tolerates/enjoys the ridiculous face patting for all of a second more before catching Dave's hand in his own and giving it a small squeeze.]
Are you done flailing around yet?
[... he could probably stand to sound a little less nauseatingly affectionate, but oh well.]
action + psychic I/O
It's nice. If experiencing every modicum of conscious thought like a sound or a touch weren't so goddamn distracting and headache-inducing, Dave could almost get used to it.
He squeezes Karkat's hand gently back, interested in how different it feels against Wart's little green palm--but then, it's sort of not Karkat's hand, so maybe that makes sense. Man, it'd kinda be neat if they turned back at different times...]
Am I ever done, dude?
[So, yeah, he's done. He turns his head a little, remembers again that there's little point to trying to look around, and then dips his head at Karkat.]
Okay, (goodfriend-trust-pride-silly-safe-wanttotouch-sosodear) Karkat. Make with the seeing-eye and let's bounce.
action + psychic I/O
Karkat's rapidly blackening mood lifts again at that series of thoughts/feelings/impressions, at least, but not without a quiet snort. Seeing-eye what, exactly? Some inexplicable human thing, probably, if the trend holds true.]
We agreed no puddles, but neither of us said anything about tripping you flat on your fucking face.
[... except for how unfair it would be to Wart if he were to be seriously injured by that. Karkat wouldn't do it to regular Dave, either, but that might depend on how thoroughly annoying he's being. Maybe.]
action + psychic I/O
[...Though, he's getting the sense that maybe he leaks more than he picks up on? Shit.]
...Probably.
[His little hand tightens in Karkat's. He's not afraid, really--how can he be when it's Karkat--but he is blind and it's slightly unnerving how much he suddenly doesn't know about what's around him.]
Come on, you wouldn't do that to Wart. Anyway, you gotta lead, dude, I have no idea how to get back to town like this.
action + psychic I/O
It could be worse, he supposes. He doesn't think he'd be able to look Jade in the eye for a sweep if she ever saw into his head, however complicated his feelings for Dave have become.]
Wart maybe, but you?
[Why is he even trying. He does get on with the leading thing, though, his attention mostly on Dave... and where Dave is stepping, the area surrounding him, his proximity to other objects. If focusing on sensory data helps Dave to "see" better, it's the least he can do even if it feels overly intimate. Is that what he'd meant by palekink?]
You didn't think this through at all, did you?
action + psychic I/O
[It's less that he's listening and more that he's just aware, like being in another room while someone's having a phone conversation, aware of the rises and falls in tone but not the words. Now that he has to concentrate on walking and talking rather than exploring Karkat's mindscape, Dave just gets impressions. He thinks that's a flicker of Jade, maybe? And before that, that was exaggerated yelling, probably aimed at him.
It's not as loud as the concern, though. No, loud isn't the word, it's just. Clear. Karkat's focused on him, and the attention's coming through, the care. Like always, it makes Dave feel a little warm and shivery inside, very aware of things like his (Wart's?) heartbeat.]
Come on, it's not like people keep me around for my intellect. If they did, Rose would be out of a brainy blonde shtick, and I can't do that to my own sister. Branding is important.
action + psychic I/O
I'm rolling my eyes, just so you know.
[And he is, a little, but he's mostly still trying to make certain that Dave isn't about to collide with anything. Maybe they'll get back to the hotel without incident after all? Who the fuck is he kidding, it's all going to go pear-shaped eventually. He just has to make sure he doesn't lose his fucking head again when that happens.]
People don't keep you around for your looks, either. Hate to break it to you. Why did you think you were so popular?
action + psychic I/O
[The response is so automatic he only registers popular? (a brush of surprise-pleasure-uncertainty) a second after he replies, but he apparently doesn't find that worthy of comment--or, more likely, of risking the vulnerability of letting anyone know he didn't think he was popular.]
People want me for my body exclusively. Multitudes gaze upon my pasty chicken legs and whisper benedictions upon them, blessing all forces that be for the opportunity to bear witness to someone so goddamn fly.
action + psychic I/O
Actually, wait, hang on.]
Have you worn shorts even once since arriving on this fucking planet?
[How are people seeing said pasty chicken legs, exactly. Please explain.]
action + psychic I/O
(Okay, that was gay.)
He curls Wart's tiny fingers around Karkat-Dirk's and wills the blushing schoolgirl feelings far, far away, please. Please, he's gotta get through this somehow.]
Why must you ruin an awesome verbal riff by insisting on literal interpretation.
[A heavy, put-upon mental sigh. And an audible one, too, for good measure.]
No, Karkat, I don't own shorts. Shorts are for weenie children and John. Do I look like John to you. No.
action + psychic I/O
Briefly, he entertains the notion of slapping himself again, but as satisfying as it would be because fuck Dirk anyway, he somehow refrains. For now. God, maybe everything about these few days in someone else's body can be mutually forgotten between the two of them as "shit too embarrassing to admit happened." They hadn't expanded the category lately, might as well fix that.]
You are so fucking lucky I'm not going to tell him you said that. He'd probably buy you a pair and find some way to make you wear them.
[By, what, hiding all his other pairs of pants somewhere? The prankster's ways are unknown to Karkat, but the past few weeks have been nothing if not EXCESSIVELY FUCKING EDUCATIONAL in that respect.]
action + psychic I/O
[Knee-length shorts and a sleeveless shirt, you say? The rather showier image in Dave's own head comes complete with a backing track. NICE LEGS, DAISY DUKES, MAKES A MAN GO *whistle*. Also, there are cowboy boots and a knotted shirt. Basically, this was a bad idea.
Dave laughs silently again, John-fond and amused and self-conscious.]
Oops, my bad, shield your virgin ganderbulbs.