Rose stood on the battlefield of Skaia, two needles the size of swords in her hands, and faced her opponent. Two armies surrounded her, one made up entirely of Daves, all of them missing one or more important body parts, red capes (and, in some cases, entrails) flapping in the breeze. His skin was so pale it glowed, in contrast to the army of trolls. She didn't recognize most of them, but they recognized her.
She couldn't exchange more than basic pleasantries while they had a battle to fight. She braced herself, and her opponent leapt into the air.
Jasper landed on her chest, bowling her over and onto the checked ground, his claws poking through the flimsy head of an unsuspecting cotton Squiddle. She squinted up at him.
"You're not supposed to fight me, you're supposed to feed me. I'm a cat." He was purring, though, his dead, glassy white eyes closing as she reached a hand up to pet him. He basked in the attention for a few minutes, and then his claws dug in deeper, as his tentacles wrapped around her throat. Squeeze. "Wake up, sleepyhead! You're going to be LATE."
The lately un-late Rose Lalonde, woke up gasping for air.
She was in a box. A small, metal box, not much larger than she was. Having never attended a large, stereotypical, pedestrian public school, she had never been shoved into a locker, but this seemed like a likely comparison. If the locker was then tipped over and dumped in a refrigerator. She reached her fingers up, and ran them along the inside of the box. Then along the bandages wrapped around her chest, which was probably a bad idea, since there were a lot more of them than she wanted to think about, and then over her lips.
Had someone kissed her? Had Gamzee kissed her? The face she made could only be represented by extremely terrible lineart in hilarious fashion. Moving that much, even if it was her lips, made her chest ache. Or maybe that was just the idea of having her first kiss be from a murderous alien covered in her blood. Who probably got off on that kind of thing.
Also, someone was screaming.
Her fingers left her face and went back to studying the box. There was a tiny line of slightly less-dark darkness at the end; she poked at it, and the entire box shuddered. Then she pulled, and it slid out a foot.
"So we're not dead," she called out, and then regretted it. Ouch. Talking hurt. Moving was going to hurt more. The other person was still screaming. "It's a drawer. Reach up, find the edge, and push."
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She couldn't exchange more than basic pleasantries while they had a battle to fight. She braced herself, and her opponent leapt into the air.
Jasper landed on her chest, bowling her over and onto the checked ground, his claws poking through the flimsy head of an unsuspecting cotton Squiddle. She squinted up at him.
"You're not supposed to fight me, you're supposed to feed me. I'm a cat." He was purring, though, his dead, glassy white eyes closing as she reached a hand up to pet him. He basked in the attention for a few minutes, and then his claws dug in deeper, as his tentacles wrapped around her throat. Squeeze. "Wake up, sleepyhead! You're going to be LATE."
The lately un-late Rose Lalonde, woke up gasping for air.
She was in a box. A small, metal box, not much larger than she was. Having never attended a large, stereotypical, pedestrian public school, she had never been shoved into a locker, but this seemed like a likely comparison. If the locker was then tipped over and dumped in a refrigerator. She reached her fingers up, and ran them along the inside of the box. Then along the bandages wrapped around her chest, which was probably a bad idea, since there were a lot more of them than she wanted to think about, and then over her lips.
Had someone kissed her? Had Gamzee kissed her? The face she made could only be represented by extremely terrible lineart in hilarious fashion. Moving that much, even if it was her lips, made her chest ache. Or maybe that was just the idea of having her first kiss be from a murderous alien covered in her blood. Who probably got off on that kind of thing.
Also, someone was screaming.
Her fingers left her face and went back to studying the box. There was a tiny line of slightly less-dark darkness at the end; she poked at it, and the entire box shuddered. Then she pulled, and it slid out a foot.
"So we're not dead," she called out, and then regretted it. Ouch. Talking hurt. Moving was going to hurt more. The other person was still screaming. "It's a drawer. Reach up, find the edge, and push."