It’s dark inside of the vents—overwhelmingly, claustrophobically dark, and Nepeta’s never realised how much she hates being imprisoned like this until now. All her life, she’s had the freedom to run as far and as fast as she wanted through the woods by her cave-hive and her cute teacup Land. The only thing that’s ever even begun to compare to this was the time when she got her leg caught in some sort of nasty biting trap; the time when she’d screamed until she could scream no more, too weak to pry the trap open on her own; the time when her beautiful dead lusus went and ran to get her beloved (just as dead) meowrail to save her.
“How long til I get in?” the voice echoes through the vents, and she shakes her head to clear her thoughts (chokes back a sob) before pulling herself again to her feet and taking off down a passageway she hasn’t yet tried. Hoping against a hope utterly destroyed that he won’t find her, won’t track her trying-to-be-super-soft footfalls until she collapses yet again, her tiny frame wracked with grief and exhaustion. For Nepeta’s lost track of how long she’s been in here, in this horrible clanging metal prison.
And she knows, if she’d only let herself remember everything, that she’d know exactly how long it’s been. She’ll always know just how long she’s been without the very centre of her universe and so dreadfully alone. But she can’t let herself do that now, there’ll be time to sob and fall to pieces as her world shatters again around her later; right now, she’s got to keep moving. Even if the sweet mercy of death is sounding better and better the more she thinks about it.
It’s the words that make her keep moving. She won’t let him have the satisfaction of killing them both, no matter how much she wants to just give in and surrender like he did. Except he’s always been first in her view of the world, and he said to stay up here and gave her a message she needed to give to Karki—Karkat, and maybe that doesn’t apply now that he’s put the hemospectrum before her and left her here alone to die? “Before it starts, catsis, before I motherfuckin’ begin? Paint the walls bright motherfuckin’ miraculous shades with your unworthy blood!”
Nepeta’s choking on her tears now. His body is just below; somehow, she’s gone in circles like a squeakbeast in a maze and has ended up right back where she started. Where her tormenter has written all over the walls in all-too-familiar dark blue blood.
“Come on out, li’l catsis, you’ll miss all the motherfuckin’ carnival fun!” The laugh echoes too, even worse than the madness-tainted words. “And by fun, I mean carnage. I all up and get them motherfuckin’ confused sometimes!”
(so blinded by love and grief is she, she fails to see the stained hand that reaches up to tug her grate free, and so the little cat-troll goes tumbling down)
“Come on over—just be patient, you’re next in the motherfuckin’ line. Don’t you go getting your worry on, catsis, this should only sting a bit.” Wild and mad and gleeful, all because a high(low, scum)blood wouldn’t all up and motherfucking bow to him. “It’ll go away when the searing pain all up and motherfucking kicks in!” He can afford to play, she knows. She’s the first guest to his carnival (the only one, she hopes), the Dark Carnival written scribbled scrawled all over the walls. He’ll play with her, be gentle as he can (because sometimes, that way, it hurts worse).
Death is indeed a relief when it comes, the sharp pain of the clubs (the relentless pain of the clubs, beating and beating and shattering things she didn’t even know were there, and she sobs and does not give him the satisfaction of begging) no match for the pain his death brought her. It was sixty-one minutes and twenty seconds exactly, the longest hour of her life.
But in the end, as her twisted, broken body gives out, she dies with a smile on her face—never alone again.
FILL: TEAM Eridan <3< Vriska
“How long til I get in?” the voice echoes through the vents, and she shakes her head to clear her thoughts (chokes back a sob) before pulling herself again to her feet and taking off down a passageway she hasn’t yet tried. Hoping against a hope utterly destroyed that he won’t find her, won’t track her trying-to-be-super-soft footfalls until she collapses yet again, her tiny frame wracked with grief and exhaustion. For Nepeta’s lost track of how long she’s been in here, in this horrible clanging metal prison.
And she knows, if she’d only let herself remember everything, that she’d know exactly how long it’s been. She’ll always know just how long she’s been without the very centre of her universe and so dreadfully alone. But she can’t let herself do that now, there’ll be time to sob and fall to pieces as her world shatters again around her later; right now, she’s got to keep moving. Even if the sweet mercy of death is sounding better and better the more she thinks about it.
It’s the words that make her keep moving. She won’t let him have the satisfaction of killing them both, no matter how much she wants to just give in and surrender like he did. Except he’s always been first in her view of the world, and he said to stay up here and gave her a message she needed to give to Karki—Karkat, and maybe that doesn’t apply now that he’s put the hemospectrum before her and left her here alone to die? “Before it starts, catsis, before I motherfuckin’ begin? Paint the walls bright motherfuckin’ miraculous shades with your unworthy blood!”
Nepeta’s choking on her tears now. His body is just below; somehow, she’s gone in circles like a squeakbeast in a maze and has ended up right back where she started. Where her tormenter has written all over the walls in all-too-familiar dark blue blood.
“Come on out, li’l catsis, you’ll miss all the motherfuckin’ carnival fun!” The laugh echoes too, even worse than the madness-tainted words. “And by fun, I mean carnage. I all up and get them motherfuckin’ confused sometimes!”
(so blinded by love and grief is she, she fails to see the stained hand that reaches up to tug her grate free, and so the little cat-troll goes tumbling down)
“Come on over—just be patient, you’re next in the motherfuckin’ line. Don’t you go getting your worry on, catsis, this should only sting a bit.” Wild and mad and gleeful, all because a high(low, scum)blood wouldn’t all up and motherfucking bow to him. “It’ll go away when the searing pain all up and motherfucking kicks in!” He can afford to play, she knows. She’s the first guest to his carnival (the only one, she hopes), the Dark Carnival written scribbled scrawled all over the walls. He’ll play with her, be gentle as he can (because sometimes, that way, it hurts worse).
Death is indeed a relief when it comes, the sharp pain of the clubs (the relentless pain of the clubs, beating and beating and shattering things she didn’t even know were there, and she sobs and does not give him the satisfaction of begging) no match for the pain his death brought her. It was sixty-one minutes and twenty seconds exactly, the longest hour of her life.
But in the end, as her twisted, broken body gives out, she dies with a smile on her face—never alone again.