You would do it, you really would, but you feel so damn ashamed of yourself, you suppose that this overtly disgusting form of self-punishment and humiliation is probably the best way to remind your self that YES, YOU ARE A FUCK-UP.
You take it off anyway.
Placing it down beside you, you knock it wayside a little with a gentle (READ: ridiculously infuriated) kick, and proceed to plop your self down with all the grace of a tyrian blood. But not really. If you honestly think a single molecule in your body could possibly possess grace at this moment in time then damn you, you need someone to recalibrate your thinkpan.
You really want to talk to John. You really, really do. You want to cry and beg and grovel until he forgives you, but HOLY SHIT, that is way OUT OF CHARACTER.
So instead, you sit and stare at your CELLULAR COMMUNICATIONS DEVICE, praying to the stars that the previously-considered-annoying-but-would-now-be-glorious beeping noise characterised by the "ONE UNREAD MESSAGE" sign would go off.
Any day now.
Any second now.
Really, before the 12th Perigee's Eve, for fuck's sakes.
You only barely resist the urge to throw the damn thing against the wall, before suddenly, the useless technological lump of refurbished metal chunks in your hand dings.
==> KARKAT: EXTRICATE SELF FROM BUCKET. (FILL: TEAM KANAYA<3VRISKA)
You would do it, you really would, but you feel so damn ashamed of yourself, you suppose that this overtly disgusting form of self-punishment and humiliation is probably the best way to remind your self that YES, YOU ARE A FUCK-UP.
You take it off anyway.
Placing it down beside you, you knock it wayside a little with a gentle (READ: ridiculously infuriated) kick, and proceed to plop your self down with all the grace of a tyrian blood. But not really. If you honestly think a single molecule in your body could possibly possess grace at this moment in time then damn you, you need someone to recalibrate your thinkpan.
You really want to talk to John. You really, really do. You want to cry and beg and grovel until he forgives you, but HOLY SHIT, that is way OUT OF CHARACTER.
So instead, you sit and stare at your CELLULAR COMMUNICATIONS DEVICE, praying to the stars that the previously-considered-annoying-but-would-now-be-glorious beeping noise characterised by the "ONE UNREAD MESSAGE" sign would go off.
Any day now.
Any second now.
Really, before the 12th Perigee's Eve, for fuck's sakes.
You only barely resist the urge to throw the damn thing against the wall, before suddenly, the useless technological lump of refurbished metal chunks in your hand dings.
Great, you wonder who it could be.
==> KARKAT: Answer the message.