Jack finds there's no point teleporting because the Prospitian does it just as fast. He dis-and-reappears, and her sword is right there in the same instant. If instead he keeps pumping and twisting his wings around in this space, right among the mouths of the voices that had quietly screamed everybody in and out of sleep all his life, he can shape himself into something too quick to get a fight started with.
It's not as easy as everything had been since he slipped on the ring: he has to seriously fucking concentrate. He has to be aware of her behind him, but not too aware because then he starts thinking of his heartrate and of what he can catch a scent of. Nothing, that's fucking what, there's sound and speed out here and that's all.
She catches him sometimes. Of course. It's all she really wants, is the fact of the matter (his overeager heartrate tells him, the musk in his sweat says), given that she's keeping up with him so constantly and with such ease. She wants to move fast enough to catch him, he wants to move fast enough to keep ahead, and really, couldn't they meet some kind of fucking god-cat so they could both lose their shit and chow the throat out of that instead?
Hard to say how this will end. She's all teeth and considers him all target, and it seems like she intends for it to stay that way. It's all she chases after.
Jack finds it hard to say how he wants it to end. They can move as fast as they want to -- and so sometimes he's all-of-a-sudden slower, there's time to see the stars and tentacles, and then her sword is flashing out towards him with furious force. Her snarl reveals thin black lips. Her growl reverbs a different kind of song into the void.
Mostly he thinks how it's bullshit to have met an actual match in this state. What good is the Queen's fucking ring and all its legendary divine power now, huh? Would've been kind of good to laugh in her face about it - but also. Squirming all round his belly, underneath all that. He wonders if he can want other things, think shit straight into reality out of this interspace singalong, want his match to set her sword down enough so that she'll have to do it. Then again, he's up against what the Prospitian wants. He's not going to get lucky up against all that.
Maybe it would be all right just not wanting this flight-and-fight against her to end.
FILL: TEAM KARKAT<3NEPETA
Jack finds there's no point teleporting because the Prospitian does it just as fast. He dis-and-reappears, and her sword is right there in the same instant. If instead he keeps pumping and twisting his wings around in this space, right among the mouths of the voices that had quietly screamed everybody in and out of sleep all his life, he can shape himself into something too quick to get a fight started with.
It's not as easy as everything had been since he slipped on the ring: he has to seriously fucking concentrate. He has to be aware of her behind him, but not too aware because then he starts thinking of his heartrate and of what he can catch a scent of. Nothing, that's fucking what, there's sound and speed out here and that's all.
She catches him sometimes. Of course. It's all she really wants, is the fact of the matter (his overeager heartrate tells him, the musk in his sweat says), given that she's keeping up with him so constantly and with such ease. She wants to move fast enough to catch him, he wants to move fast enough to keep ahead, and really, couldn't they meet some kind of fucking god-cat so they could both lose their shit and chow the throat out of that instead?
Hard to say how this will end. She's all teeth and considers him all target, and it seems like she intends for it to stay that way. It's all she chases after.
Jack finds it hard to say how he wants it to end. They can move as fast as they want to -- and so sometimes he's all-of-a-sudden slower, there's time to see the stars and tentacles, and then her sword is flashing out towards him with furious force. Her snarl reveals thin black lips. Her growl reverbs a different kind of song into the void.
Mostly he thinks how it's bullshit to have met an actual match in this state. What good is the Queen's fucking ring and all its legendary divine power now, huh? Would've been kind of good to laugh in her face about it - but also. Squirming all round his belly, underneath all that. He wonders if he can want other things, think shit straight into reality out of this interspace singalong, want his match to set her sword down enough so that she'll have to do it. Then again, he's up against what the Prospitian wants. He's not going to get lucky up against all that.
Maybe it would be all right just not wanting this flight-and-fight against her to end.