[Maybe not hurt you. Not exactly. No moreso than is conventional for the pity quadrants, anyway. Real limb-wrenching stuff gets reserved for the other quadrants blackside. The voices in his head all agree--they value the quadrants more than he does.
Terrify you, though. Certainly. Make you cry. Make you helpless. And snatch you up in the midst of it, to savor that kind of exquisite, pitiable terror. What could be more stirring, after all, than the sight of your matesprit helpless as a sacrificial woolbeast?
Still, that mumble's like a drop of clarity against the headache he's starting to get--the thoughts he's starting to feel come out more clearly than they should.
(But that's right, isn't it? Because they all agree: all of him agrees. Tavros is infinitely pitiable. It's just not all of him that's content to sample the sweet, light traces of pity in the past without supping on the heavy delights he could play out like a well-chorused carnival...)
He stiffens, and jerks upright enough to look at you with the almost-comic open-horror you've come to expect. The serious fear of offense cuts through all the babble in his head for a moment of clarity such as he usually only gets when Karkat's shout is louder than even the loud in his head.
It's probably a redrom thing. Probably.]
[Sheepishly, pulling a piece of hair off of one of your horns.]
[His eyes glaze over briefly before he starts to snicker so hard he shakes and has to hold his stomach, curling up in a little ball on one side of your chair, knees under his chin, and his feet planted on your other leg.]
[Which would probably be a much sweeter thing to say if he weren't addressing all this to your left horn, with a look of soppily befuddled romantic intensity which seems to speak that any second now, he's going to try to knock lips with what he just called your "huge rack". Which in another universe where it means something different, would be an exceptionally awkward thing to say.
He shudders a moment, and whispers something under his breath that sounds like "" before blinking again, and just looking confused.
He really doesn't feel so good. This is turning into a really really bad trip full of side-effect and not enough dull. It's like something's shouting in one ear and whispering in another, and it's really hard to try to listen to both at the same time when Tavros- Tavros is trying to tell him something. He snaps to look at you, intent, penitent, expecting...]
[Another voice in that curl of nausea whispers that he didn't say anything, that he's being downright selfish.]
THERE ARE NO LINES ANYMORE. Unless it's drawing up some wicked foursquare.
Terrify you, though. Certainly. Make you cry. Make you helpless. And snatch you up in the midst of it, to savor that kind of exquisite, pitiable terror. What could be more stirring, after all, than the sight of your matesprit helpless as a sacrificial woolbeast?
Still, that mumble's like a drop of clarity against the headache he's starting to get--the thoughts he's starting to feel come out more clearly than they should.
(But that's right, isn't it? Because they all agree: all of him agrees. Tavros is infinitely pitiable. It's just not all of him that's content to sample the sweet, light traces of pity in the past without supping on the heavy delights he could play out like a well-chorused carnival...)
He stiffens, and jerks upright enough to look at you with the almost-comic open-horror you've come to expect. The serious fear of offense cuts through all the babble in his head for a moment of clarity such as he usually only gets when Karkat's shout is louder than even the loud in his head.
It's probably a redrom thing. Probably.]
[Sheepishly, pulling a piece of hair off of one of your horns.]
[His eyes glaze over briefly before he starts to snicker so hard he shakes and has to hold his stomach, curling up in a little ball on one side of your chair, knees under his chin, and his feet planted on your other leg.]
[Which would probably be a much sweeter thing to say if he weren't addressing all this to your left horn, with a look of soppily befuddled romantic intensity which seems to speak that any second now, he's going to try to knock lips with what he just called your "huge rack". Which in another universe where it means something different, would be an exceptionally awkward thing to say.
He shudders a moment, and whispers something under his breath that sounds like "" before blinking again, and just looking confused.
He really doesn't feel so good. This is turning into a really really bad trip full of side-effect and not enough dull. It's like something's shouting in one ear and whispering in another, and it's really hard to try to listen to both at the same time when Tavros-
Tavros is trying to tell him something.
He snaps to look at you, intent, penitent, expecting...]
[Another voice in that curl of nausea whispers that he didn't say anything, that he's being downright selfish.]