capitalh | (no subject)

Who: Karkat Vantas (

10thingsihateaboutme) & Magdal Leijon (

scribes)
Where: The Sufferist safe house.
When: End of February
What: The Second Troll Jesus meets the Disciple of the First.
Warnings: Don't expect there to be any. Karkat's swearing??

Di was nervous.

She had known to eventually she would be introduced to the Signless' successor, but after so long of being left to her own devices she had started to wonder if something had gone amiss. When she woke up to the message that they would be bringing him in today it had first sent her into a fit for them not having giving her more notification and then a panic when she realized she...really had no idea of what to expect. How old was he? How informed was he? Was he fully immersed with the Sufferist, or was he like her, still getting his bearings? When she realized just how much she didn't know it made her exasperated but at least that was easier to deal with than anger or panic.

It was a testament to how badly she wanted to make a good impression that she actually gave some thought as to what to wear. In the end she had settled for some boring black dresses pants and long sleeved turtle neck, but the fact that Di had given an iota of thought instead of just slapping on whatever she grabbed first was something.

The rest of the day was spent nervously cleaning up things for the fifth time, looking at the clock, trying to read, looking at the clock, redoing her braid, and looking at the clock. There had to be something wrong with it because she was certain it had never been this slow before, but when at last that knock came it almost seemed too soon.

Di took a moment to compose herself before walking to the entrance, and opening the door.

Threaded | Flat

Karkat was on edge.

The message had come to him via CONDOR, so he wasn't too worried about it being a trap – that is to say, he'd briefly entertained the panicked thought that it might be, but had realised in short order that that was ridiculous – but he had a positive wealth of other things to worry about.

The idea of actually meeting any of his ancestor's contemporaries had never crossed his mind. He knew, of course, the stories about the Psiioniic, that he was supposedly still alive as the helmsman of Her Imperious Condescension's ship, but although some of the Sufferists had seemed quite certain about it, he'd dismissed it as rumour and legend – that a lowblood should live that long seemed improbable to him, even if the Condesce had the same healing powers as Feferi did. As far as he was concerned the lot of them, surely, were dead, and this was the last thing he'd expected to be informed about out of nowhere.

As he drew closer to the destination he'd been supplied with, though, it started to sink in. As long as this wasn't some kind of trick or a weird test or something, he was about to meet someone who'd been closer than anybody to the troll whose prodigious foot coverings he was supposed to be filling.

There was no way in hell he was going to be good enough.

His ears folded back as the door swung open, and he took an involuntary step back – and, as he set eyes on her more fully, did a double take.

"Shit –"