This is like a Karkat version of the fic Obscura by ThinkingCAPSLOCK. So the layout is similiar, as is the universe.
Three Sweeps
The night is oddly faded, like his surroundings are an old, wine-stained photograph, worn out from years of being a prized memento. The bulbs that hang off the top of rusted poles bathe the quasi-visible streets in sherry light, and everything's as if his eyes have been switched to sepia. As he walks, he takes note of the rustblood pavilion's shabby conditions, but quickly dismisses the colorful insult to describe its sheer parsimony, figuring it's probably a lot better than he deserves. There are practically sights of trolls mugging wrigglers on every block. Gunshots are just background music here. But, hey. If mutantbloods had their own pavilion, it would find its own way to be ten times worse, though, looking around, he's scared to imagine what that might entail. He's grateful for this pavilion, really. He had to walk a couple miles out of his way, and was none too happy about it, but in the greenblood pavilion near his hive, they check meticulously for blood. So rustblood pavilion it was.
When he finally gets to the movie theater, a burst of renewed hope surges through his chest, and he can't help but feel a bit giddy. Ever since he was old enough to understand the difference between cheesy and filthy cinema, he had always watched the old romcoms as if the secrets of the universe were hidden in the subtext. Or maybe the secrets of the dating universe. He internally slaps himself for that last thought. Even though they are crappy secrets, they're secrets nonetheless. Ever since his first Troll Sandler flick, he had sent his lusus out to buy copies of every romcoms in existence. Literally. Every. Single. One.
But that was sweeps ago, and his supply has long since dwindled. He's been watching ones he's already seen for the last couple perigees, and it makes him feel greasy and lonely. But the newest Troll Sandler flick is coming out tonight, and he won't dare miss it. He's just got to slip past the trolls who guard the gate in. Really, they're employed to check blood as meticulously as everywhere else, but the lower you go on the hemospectrum, the less they care. Hopefully, he'll get lucky.
As he nears the entrance, he can see the initials of the title in lights that stretch around the building, albeit, there are a couple lights broken. Still better than nothing, he reminds himself. He's rounding the corner, listening to the jingle of change in his pocket. Another good thing about rustblood pavilions is that the movies are notorious for being dirt-che—
"Hold on, Son, not so fast."
One hand is reaching ambitiously for the entrance, but his elbow is gripped harshly and he's yanked back. The lower you go on the hemospectrum, the less they care about being polite, too.
"You're new around these parts, right? We're going to need a blood sample."
The jingle of change is barely audible now over the sound of his own bloodpusher.
"Wait…" he looks back at the shortened title, "That's the stupid movie with Troll Sandler? I thought it was the new one with actual cannibal Troll Shia Labeouf. I don't want to see a movie for girls. Uh, I'll just be on my way now…" He jerks his thumb away from the movie theater, but the troll clearly has no intention of letting him go so easily.
"Doesn't matter what you're seeing, you're new and we need a tab on you."
"No."
"Excuse me." The guard slams him against the wall, hard enough to draw a little blood. He brandishes a syringe and comes straight at Karkat, but he's much too fast for him and dodges in time. This just gets the guard even angrier. He stabs the syringe right into Karkat's arm, but they've moved too far into the shadows for him to tell it's not maroon. There's a bit of blood still lingering on the syringe, he notes, and that just won't do. The guard's walking back into the light to get a better look.
He gives the troll a swift kick to the side, and the incriminating evidence falls back to Karkat. He picks it up, and runs off into the night. The guard doesn't run after him.
When he gets home, he slams the door to his hive and makes a nosedive for the couch. That was the first time he's been out since…since prevailing the trials in the caverns. He was debating going for perigees, thinking of the rejection from even the lowest of castes brought an ache to his chest. He went out with hope, but inside he knew they'd be dashed. And going outside for the first time since his wriggling day, while others had been out plenty of times, just resonated his loneliness. If only there was a way he could talk to another troll being without actually leaving his hive. No, wait, that sounded completely dumb.
Dumb enough to work.
At first he hesitated, taken aback by his own stupidity. Was he really going to download Trollian? He had heard a couple trolls in his neighborhood chatting it up, and even through verbal publicity alone, it sounded like the dumbest idea he had ever heard. Who would want to talk to random strangers?
When the only thing to do is strife with Crabdad and watch old romcoms alone in a dark room, it's hard not to get bored or lonely. Maybe talking to random strangers would be a better experience.
The crab-top ripely chirped, signifying the program was done making a pig sty of his computer. He clicked on the "Next" button, which took him to another screen.
He almost threw the computer out the window.
Oh, no.
Oh, hell no.
The brain-dead program was asking for his blood color.
Why? Why would it need to know something that stupid?
Karkat should've known it would, though. But he's too smart to let some little Alternian laws get him down.
He entered "Gray" into the text box, hoping against hope that whoever created this program was a gullible idiot.
Miraculously, it worked.
The next step was easy, just a two-worded username. Might as well make a big showy pun out of it.
He scrolled over to another enter button, and soon enough he was talking to a random stranger.
TC: SuP mY mAgNiFiCiEnT bRo
He absconded the heck out of that conversation.
This was stupid. Talking to random strangers is the most awkward thing. Even worse than that one movie with Troll Angelina Jolie, and that was a bloody train-wreck. How was he supposed to start a conversation with someone he didn't know anything about? This was extremely idiotic. But, what the heck? They're strangers, if he embarrassed himself, who's going to know?
AA: hell0
What was up with that 0? Was she trying to be clever? Now that he thought about it, the indigoblood that tried to talk to him had a quirk of his own, too. Maybe that was how everyone remembered everyone on here. His finger tapped the caps lock button.
CG: HEY.
Better to come across as an arrogant douche than risk being forgotten.
AA: wait
AA: why are y0u talking in gray
CG: BECAUSE IT ADDS TO THE MYSTERY OF TALKING TO A STRANGER. YOU'RE WELCOME.
CG: I'M KARKAT, BY THE WAY.
AA: aradia
