PLAYER Name: Krissy Personal Journal: N/A E-mail: beepbeepkat@gmail.com AIM/MSN/etc: beepbeepkat
CHARACTER Name: Karkat Vantas Canon: Karkat Timeline: Shortly after Gamzee begins sobering up. Specifically, right after this scene. Personality: If you asked Karkat to describe himself, he'd probably give you a litany of aggressively colorful phrases; none of which would include the words 'nice', 'caring', or 'kind'. He has no patience for stupidity and even less patience for anything that might interfere with how he thinks things should be done, and the fact that it occasionally frequently seems like the whole universe is stacked against him (and he can do nothing to change it) makes him a furious, prickly ball of rage, ready to snap on the next person to cross him in the wrong way.
Really, though, the Knight is all bark and very little bite. Beneath the bluster of cursing and overly intricate metaphors is a troll who worries deeply about his friends and really just wants to make sure everyone's okay at the end of the perigee. He'll fight - if he has to - when one of his friends is in danger, and is quick to cut down (verbally, at least) anyone who might challenge any one of his companions in a manner meant to do harm. He's got a kind soul concealed under his crabby exterior, one that he's loathe to reveal.
He's as volatile as he is because he wants to keep everyone at a distance, though he doesn't always do a very good job of it. In the end, it's almost worth it to try and push past all that cursing to see what's underneath, though he's definitely not going to let anyone have an easy time of it.
First Person: [Karkat has to suppress the growl that's threatening to start thrumming in the back of his throat as he inches down the hallway, his sickle clutched desperately in one hand. He doesn't want to be found - that is, in fact, the opposite of what would be good for things right now - but he can't just sit still. It goes against everything in his nature. Besides, maybe he could fix things. Maybe. Maybe things weren't so far gone that they were irreparable.]
Gamzee?
[The name is a faint whisper, and he winces, kicking himself mentally. Yeah. That's a great idea. Call for the crazy fucker.
He does it again, anyway. This time, there's more volume in his voice.]
Gamzee, c'mon, come the fuck out, asshole. It's time to cut all this hoofbeast shit. It was hilarious while it lasted, and I promise you've already won every award for 'Best Comedic Horror to Cross the Screen Since the Last Fuckery That Left Trollywood', and I'll make sure you've got the best damn suit for the awards ceremony, you'll be the prettiest troll at the midnight ball, we'll get your hair done and everything. But let's get back to fucking reality.
[His voice trembles a little at the end, and he swallows. There's a noise behind him, a creak somewhere in the darkness, and he spins around, sickle at the ready. Fuck.
He doesn't want to find Gamzee Makara, not really, but he's more scared of what will happen if he doesn't.
So he keeps inching down the hallway. Somewhere, the highblood is waiting. Karkat halfway hopes that he'll be the first one to find him. Better him than some poor shitsponge who doesn't know what to expect...]
Third Person: Fuck, it was cold.
Karkat huffed, hugging himself almost desperately. He was scowling - as per usual - as he tromped down the street, footfalls louder than normal in the awkward snow-boots, scuffling along the sidewalk through the freshly-fallen snow. If it weren't for the promise of coffee (and oh, how he wished that he'd been able to experience the fucking magical beauty that coffee was before he'd come to this gog-forsaken place, it was like someone had taken everything perfect in the world and transformed it into the most wonderful drug that had ever existed; seriously, he didn't see how people could taste it just once and then go on about their day like it wasn't a big deal) he probably wouldn't have set foot out of his hiveblock this morning. If he'd known just how cold it was going to be, coffee still might not have been enough of a draw.
He'd taken note of the frost on his window, he'd pulled on a sweater, had even dug out those ugly earmuffs that he'd been given earlier this sweep. Gloves, horrible snowboots, and he'd thought himself prepared.
Now, two blocks away from the place he called 'home' and with another half a block to go to the coffee shop, he was regretting even bothering. He idly wondered if he'd ever have feeling in his nose again. It was so cold it hurt.
"Fuck. Everything." He muttered, hugging himself again, walking a little faster.
[CANON] Karkat Vantas || Homestuck || Reserve [1 of 1]
Name: Krissy
Personal Journal: N/A
E-mail: beepbeepkat@gmail.com
AIM/MSN/etc: beepbeepkat
CHARACTER
Name: Karkat Vantas
Canon: Karkat
Timeline: Shortly after Gamzee begins sobering up. Specifically, right after this scene.
Personality: If you asked Karkat to describe himself, he'd probably give you a litany of aggressively colorful phrases; none of which would include the words 'nice', 'caring', or 'kind'. He has no patience for stupidity and even less patience for anything that might interfere with how he thinks things should be done, and the fact that it
occasionallyfrequently seems like the whole universe is stacked against him (and he can do nothing to change it) makes him a furious, prickly ball of rage, ready to snap on the next person to cross him in the wrong way.Really, though, the Knight is all bark and very little bite. Beneath the bluster of cursing and overly intricate metaphors is a troll who worries deeply about his friends and really just wants to make sure everyone's okay at the end of the perigee. He'll fight - if he has to - when one of his friends is in danger, and is quick to cut down (verbally, at least) anyone who might challenge any one of his companions in a manner meant to do harm. He's got a kind soul concealed under his crabby exterior, one that he's loathe to reveal.
He's as volatile as he is because he wants to keep everyone at a distance, though he doesn't always do a very good job of it. In the end, it's almost worth it to try and push past all that cursing to see what's underneath, though he's definitely not going to let anyone have an easy time of it.
First Person: [Karkat has to suppress the growl that's threatening to start thrumming in the back of his throat as he inches down the hallway, his sickle clutched desperately in one hand. He doesn't want to be found - that is, in fact, the opposite of what would be good for things right now - but he can't just sit still. It goes against everything in his nature. Besides, maybe he could fix things. Maybe. Maybe things weren't so far gone that they were irreparable.]
Gamzee?
[The name is a faint whisper, and he winces, kicking himself mentally. Yeah. That's a great idea. Call for the crazy fucker.
He does it again, anyway. This time, there's more volume in his voice.]
Gamzee, c'mon, come the fuck out, asshole. It's time to cut all this hoofbeast shit. It was hilarious while it lasted, and I promise you've already won every award for 'Best Comedic Horror to Cross the Screen Since the Last Fuckery That Left Trollywood', and I'll make sure you've got the best damn suit for the awards ceremony, you'll be the prettiest troll at the midnight ball, we'll get your hair done and everything. But let's get back to fucking reality.
[His voice trembles a little at the end, and he swallows. There's a noise behind him, a creak somewhere in the darkness, and he spins around, sickle at the ready. Fuck.
He doesn't want to find Gamzee Makara, not really, but he's more scared of what will happen if he doesn't.
So he keeps inching down the hallway. Somewhere, the highblood is waiting. Karkat halfway hopes that he'll be the first one to find him. Better him than some poor shitsponge who doesn't know what to expect...]
Third Person: Fuck, it was cold.
Karkat huffed, hugging himself almost desperately. He was scowling - as per usual - as he tromped down the street, footfalls louder than normal in the awkward snow-boots, scuffling along the sidewalk through the freshly-fallen snow. If it weren't for the promise of coffee (and oh, how he wished that he'd been able to experience the fucking magical beauty that coffee was before he'd come to this gog-forsaken place, it was like someone had taken everything perfect in the world and transformed it into the most wonderful drug that had ever existed; seriously, he didn't see how people could taste it just once and then go on about their day like it wasn't a big deal) he probably wouldn't have set foot out of his hiveblock this morning. If he'd known just how cold it was going to be, coffee still might not have been enough of a draw.
He'd taken note of the frost on his window, he'd pulled on a sweater, had even dug out those ugly earmuffs that he'd been given earlier this sweep. Gloves, horrible snowboots, and he'd thought himself prepared.
Now, two blocks away from the place he called 'home' and with another half a block to go to the coffee shop, he was regretting even bothering. He idly wondered if he'd ever have feeling in his nose again. It was so cold it hurt.
"Fuck. Everything." He muttered, hugging himself again, walking a little faster.
The coffee had better be fucking good.