(Karkat has no recollection of what happened. He had been working on smoothing out the floor in his kitchen when he blinked. For a second, there was nothing, and then the next, there was pain. Enormous, fierce pain clamped around his wrists, and the air was filled with the odor of burning. Both of his shoulders screamed, dislocated from whatever was pulling him across iron floors.
As Karkat started to properly wake up, he began to do what any troll would start to do: screech and thrash. His arms were useless, but he still had his teeth and legs. There was someone close enough that Karkat managed to lock his mouth around their ankle and get a good chunk out. That was about as far as he got before someone smashed a hammer down against his head. If it weren't for his horns, it might have killed him. It did knock him clean out, paleblood spilling down his face.
By the time he woke back up, someone had strung him up against a chugging metal wall. His uniquely-shaped shackles were still cooling, his hands numb from the pain, and the pain in his shoulders felt like a distant nagging. Cuts zigzagged across his body, more irritating than anything. Something like an arrow had been shot into his chest, narrowly avoiding anything vital.
The pain was terrible, but as Karkat hung there, it wasn't what bothered him. He could handle pain. His kind was meant to handle pain, expect pain, inflict pain.
What he couldn't handle was being strung up on display like his ancestor once was. That he was covered in his own blood for anyone to see - even if it wasn't his real blood, it was still his blood. A mutant's blood. And an execution fit for his kind, for his mutation, and maybe this was what was happening. Maybe he had finally been caught and this was the culling. His head droops low between his shoulders, the one side of his face covered in blood from his headwound, both horns partially cracked from the earlier impact.
He was an absolute fool to have thought life might have been going in the right direction for once.)
Nov Event - Few days after date?
As Karkat started to properly wake up, he began to do what any troll would start to do: screech and thrash. His arms were useless, but he still had his teeth and legs. There was someone close enough that Karkat managed to lock his mouth around their ankle and get a good chunk out. That was about as far as he got before someone smashed a hammer down against his head. If it weren't for his horns, it might have killed him. It did knock him clean out, paleblood spilling down his face.
By the time he woke back up, someone had strung him up against a chugging metal wall. His uniquely-shaped shackles were still cooling, his hands numb from the pain, and the pain in his shoulders felt like a distant nagging. Cuts zigzagged across his body, more irritating than anything. Something like an arrow had been shot into his chest, narrowly avoiding anything vital.
The pain was terrible, but as Karkat hung there, it wasn't what bothered him. He could handle pain. His kind was meant to handle pain, expect pain, inflict pain.
What he couldn't handle was being strung up on display like his ancestor once was. That he was covered in his own blood for anyone to see - even if it wasn't his real blood, it was still his blood. A mutant's blood. And an execution fit for his kind, for his mutation, and maybe this was what was happening. Maybe he had finally been caught and this was the culling. His head droops low between his shoulders, the one side of his face covered in blood from his headwound, both horns partially cracked from the earlier impact.
He was an absolute fool to have thought life might have been going in the right direction for once.)
...Stupid...