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
[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.