Hey old man, rest your head;
You're breaking down inside.
Staring at his husktop for a moment that was buzzing and chirping with its typical Trollian alerts, Karkat took a deep breath before shutting the top and pushing it back away from him. He rubbed his eyes wearily for a moment before placing his head in his hands, thinking over everything that had happened recently.
Rose and Dave had arrived, bringing with them the Mayor. Earlier, there had been a killing spree, resulting in practically everyone dead. Or, at least, half-dead, in Sollux's case. Terezi was the only one besides him who had managed to avoid being slaughtered, which certainly said something, attesting to her survival skills despite being hindered (or perhaps benefited?) by her lack of sight.
This was not what Karkat wanted to dwell on, yet he couldn't seem to draw his mind from it. So many deaths he could have prevented if he had just taken the time to think, to realize what was going to happen...
Kanaya told him not to blame himself, of course. She would have been a much better lusus than Crabdad, Karkat could remember thinking on more than one occasion. There were times when she broke down and cried too, ashamed of being a rainbow drinker, times he could only stand there awkwardly, attempting to comfort her and failing rather miserably. He always seemed to fail where it counted most.
A small sob escaped his lips, making him snarl in frustration. He was stronger than this, he would not cry, he would not cry!
Wiping a hand angrily at his eyes to make sure there were no tears, he could feel a warm wetness on his skin; rather than looking at it and proving that the faintly-tinted scarlet was there, Karkat scrubbed his hand against his pants, trying to get rid of all traces of the liquid. Even alone, the troll did not want to release his emotions.
Of course when another sob flew from his mouth, Karkat gave another growl, which surely would have looked strange were anyone with him. Pulling his sleeve down to cover his hand, he viciously jabbed at his cheeks, not caring at the raw red they were becoming. Anything to hide how scared and trapped he felt.
Finally succumbing to the despairing thoughts, Karkat closed his eyes, tilting his head up towards the ceiling and allowing crimson rivers to form on his face. How were they ever going to make it out of this god-forsaken game, alive or dead? He was the one who was supposed to lead them all to victory, and he was only six and a half sweeps old, just like everyone else. It was an enormous, huge task assigned to him, and half the time he wasn't sure if he was up to it.
The other half, he knew he wasn't.
The only good thing about having mutant blood, Karkat mused bitterly, was how good of a liar it made you.
Armor's cracked, set to collapse;
Damn you, don't you cry!