i wanna feel lethal on the inside, i wanna read american psycho again

> Dave: Startle.

As Karkat rips into his Grub bar, you can't help but wonder what the hell alien food tastes like. Cut yourself some slack here, you've never really had to think about it all that much before. It looks flakey and thoroughly compressed, and as his sharp teeth crush it like a vase under a hydraulic press, it crumbles slightly into his lap. He takes the last bite, you watching him from the corner of your vision like a weirdo, and you can see a sheen layer of grease on his fingertips before he brushes them off on his pants.

"What does that taste like, anyways?" you think aloud, and he turns to you, surprised. The alien gives you a funny look and crumples the thin wrapper up.

"It just tastes like dried bug. It's a protein bar, so..."

You raise an eyebrow.

"Is eating bugs common on Alternia?"

"Well, yeah. What do humans eat?"

"Food."

Karkat stares blankly for a moment before snorting. "Ass clown," he mutters under his breath and stands, using the wall as support. You grin up at him, mirroring his movements.

"Nah but really," you begin walking as he uncaps his marker, following close behind, "we eat plants and animals and shit. Bugs are out of the norm unless you're doing a wack ass triple dog dare."

"You eat your lusii?!"

"What? I mean, yeah. But they're not our parental figures, remember?"

"... Right. That's still so strange to me."

You hum.

"How did lussii even, like, parent? Having an animal guardian seems like a pain in the ass."

"Oh, don't worry, they are very much pains in the asses to every troll still on Alternia." Karkat rolls his eyes. "The only kid I know that doesn't complain about his lusus is Tavros, but that's just cause his is." He pauses, trying to find the words without being needlessly harsh. "Strange. Not for a bronzeblood, but still strange. They're known for their questionable companionship."

"Right, you guys' caste system or whatever. Seems way too complicated, to be honest."

"I guess if you're an outsider, yeah. But once you meet multiple of the same caste, it's easier to see where these so-called 'stereotypes' come from. For example, its considered a harmful assumption that all bluebloods care more about the caste system than their own lives. But, if you ever actually meet one of the assholes, you'll see exactly why people, rightly, think that. I mean, just take Equius for example, the guy won't stop asking about my fucking blood color. Judges me because I think that shit's personal, when it is. The only person that should be seeing under my skin is someone I'm in a quadrant with."

"What's a quadrant?" You ask hesitantly.

"Seriously? Are all humans this incompetent? The romance quadrants, duh."

You take a right. "No dude, I think our romance shit is way different. I've never heard a thing about quadrants and John has made me watch as many shitty movies featuring shitty romance you could count."

"Huh." He shrugs. "Well, so be it. Romance quadrants consist of two halves: red and black. The nature of these quadrants differ by color: red being primarily induced by feelings of pity, and black being by hatred or anger."

"Hold up. Hatred? That's a romantic emotion to you?"

Karkat snarls as if he's not the one that jumped at the opportunity to talk about it. "Stupidly enough, yes. It's highly inconvenient for platonic hatred, which is probably what you're thinking of. Can't hate anyone these days without it being interpreted as a pitch crush-" he begins to grumble, but cuts himself off as he looks to the near-distance with wide eyes.

You follow his gaze, half-prepared to see another randomized object blocking your path, but end up stopping dead in your tracks. Karkat takes another step, but notices your(frankly obvious) hesitance and backs off.

For the second time since you've been here, you consider reaching into your strife specibus. The only difference between now and then is that this time, you actually do.

The sword is heavy in your palms from your little to no use of it, but the memories of god-forsaken mid afternoons on the roof urge you to flashstep back a step and a half. Your feet form into a defensive position.

In front of you is a lifeless puppet with a gold tooth and all too alive, glass eyes stuck under tan eyelids as if they were there upon its wicked creation. In front of you is a puppet, one that you know and don't all at the same time. In front of you is Lil' Cal, because of course he's here, and the whiplash of something peaceful colliding with your wishfully forgotten past has you shaking like a fucking dog.

The initial sight of him is a burst of hateful nostalgia(funny, you think, considering the conversation topic at hand), but as you brace for impact, you note Cal's distinct lack of a lower body. Stuffing pours out of him motionlessly and impact never arrives. He stares straight through your shades with a sharp shine that you're sure is to be interpreted as "HELP," but the notion of it makes you scoff.

Still idiotically trembling, you come out of a defensive position, but don't sheath your sword and don't come any closer.

"What the fuck?" Karkat exclaims, bewildered, and fuck you forgot he was here.

You don't take your eyes off the puppet, but let out a breath of stale air. "Don't worry about it," you respond.

Karkat starts to say something but it dies in his throat as you take a tentative step, then another, until you're approaching it.

HEE HEE HOO HOO HAA

It screams, impossibly loud in your head. One of its eyes roll to the side.

HAA HEE HEE HOO HOO HAA HA-

The plastic of its head crunches as you stomp on it, and you can feel the glass of its eyes shatter under your sneakers. You can practically feel your eardrums tearing when it lets out an elongated shriek, but then you reel your katana up and stab it harshly in the torso. You hear the lights again.

Your sword shings softly as you pull it out. Panting heavily, you insert it back in your strife specibus and remove your foot carefully from the now caved in, artificial face.

You take a step back. Clear your throat. Don't dare to look Karkat in the eye and begin walking again. After a moment you hear his squelching footsteps following close behind and resist the urge to look and check to see if it's actually him and not that stupid fucking puppet coming back to haunt you.

Cal is dead. You killed him.

That's all there really is to say on the matter.