capeandcowllogs | how many times can it escalate

WHO: Eridan et Ruka
WHERE: His place
WHEN: The later night of January 4th, after this and also this
WARNINGS: Will be edited as needed
WHAT: Eridan and Karkat had an emotional encounter; Karkat had a subsequent emotional encounter with Ruka; here, the triangle is completed
HOW: olesia vomits prose for a while at four in the morning, then it's whatever suits best

It was impossible to tell how long they spent talking, the two of them, before it seemed stable enough to part. Ruka hadn't marked the time when she got home, and hadn't thought to judge. The sun was gone, and the moon and stars were out of view. Nothing but dark clouds and cold rain from one horizon to the other. A summer storm would have brought forth lightning, but the January chill ensured only slick roads and weary hearts.

She was, in a word, exhausted. A mess. For all the fronts she put on, her life was a series of potential disasters all waiting for an opportune moment to culminate. The future of her education and, for that matter, her possible professional life lay in the hands of a man she was not sure she could trust; her current lull out of school, and this tenuous agreement for anonymity, caused by what she felt was no less than a direct threat on her life; her house, aside from being a miserable reminder of the people she had lost, additionally played residence to two people who had brutally maimed her in one way or another. She couldn't sleep; she barely ate. It was a wonder she hadn't hospitalized herself from stress and over-exertion.

Such strain was not helped by swallowing someone else's emotional breakdown into the rotten cavity in her chest better known as a heart; Karkat's loathing and loneliness were steady in her pulse, making friends with the sorrows, hatreds, manias, paranoias, guilts, discontents, and other miserable strains of despair she could not excise. She was running out of room for her own emotions.

Not that it was necessarily a bad thing, she thought, foot on the gas pedal, eye on the road, and several laws completely ignored under the wheels of her former father's car. She'd never really liked her own heart, anyway, all it did was cause problems.

Like now.

After Karkat had mentioned just who his earlier fight was with, Ruka's stupid, infatuated little heart was quite clear on the matter. If she was willing to talk things out with Karkat, whose occupation as "friend" was tenuous as best, then it was outright inexcusable if she did not do the same—nay, more—for Eridan, whose occupation as "boyfriend" was a hell of a lot more stable. Certainly, Eridan caused her less physical harm; the bruising on her neck had not dissipated entirely, hidden still under bandage and scarf.

What good was helping anyone, said that chunk of her heart she was willing to claim as her own, if she did not help those who bothered caring about her?

She'd taken time enough to grab a hat and umbrella before heading out to the car, despite the more logical and reasonable course of action being to call, or to rest and wait until morning when her head belonged more to herself. She was more than halfway to that memorized address before Ruka bothered to pull out her communicator, shooting off a quick text message at a red light.

Coming over. Be there soon.

She didn't know anything about how the fight went, not specifically. Ruka didn't know if he was better off or worse off than Karkat, if he needed company or wanted solitude. Even if she had asked, the fragile little flame of her heart would have given her nothing but grief for sitting at home and doing nothing.

And so, well into the darker hours of a winter night, Ruka slid into an uneasy park outside that memorized address, umbrella open against the rain before she even had the car door closed.

(She was going to feel really stupid later, she realized, if he wasn't here or didn't show up.)

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[eridan is awake when the text hits. normally this would be because he's already so rarely ever sleeping these days, with so much to do, but now it's due to post-catharsis agitation. he feels better after his and karkat's encounter, sure, but he doesn't feel better. his blood is still red. he's still miserable. his wrist still probably needs stitches he's still probably going to have to perform himself, because he doesn't trust the human sawwbones to do what he already knows he can.

and then his phone flashes a text at him - he almost ignores it, but staring at his ceiling is losing its metaphorical flavor - and his heart swims in perfect form right up into his throat.

of all the fuckin people - of all the people, all of them, that he didn't want to see him like this, ruka is seated right at the top. logically he knows she won't care, not really, but eridan isn't a very logical person when it comes down to brass tacks, and the idea of her knowing he's now a vveritable crime against nature is almost too much for his poor precious soul to bear. so rather than text back that he's not home, or school himself into something resembling composure, or even turn off all his lights and pretend he's in the castle that night, eridan does logic one more.

when ruka pulls up, there's a dark shape shuffling around a ground level side window gettin the fuck outta there.]

[water patters against plastic, and though the street is dark, it's not sightlessly so; it only takes a moment to spot the right place. even in rain, motion is easy to spot.

ruka tilts her head, brow drawing down and her mouth opening for a twist of confusion.

what the hell. was someone breaking out of eridan's place? of course, another second of observation has the body shape pinned as eridan, and part of her wonders if this was a good idea.

the other part of her wonders why the hell he's not using the back door. with a steadying breath, ruka tightens her grip on the umbrella and makes her way towards the not even remotely stealthy figure coming out the window.

she props her free hand on her hip, casual as can be.]

I appreciate you coming down to meet me, but you could have used the door.

[he freezes at the sound of her voice (how did this cunning plot not work?? FUCK), briefly, before dropping to the damp soil and carefully readjusting his shirt, drawing as little attention as possible to the painfully attention-grabbing white of the gauze circling his wrist.]

Too mainstream. [the grimmest joke imaginable.] Much as I appreciate the attention, Ru, it's kinda late, ain't it?

[almost reluctantly does he glance upwards again, irises bright purple in this human form.]

I got a express order for whippin' somebody's ass for you? 'Cos I can probably find his house and fuck him up with a cricket bat just as good tomorrow as I can tonight.

Nothing like that. [the human form is a little unusual, but doesn't take her completely by surprise; they go out often enough with him in this sort of face that it's still intrinsically eridan's. but maybe strange that he wears it in the dark.

she continues, voice a little quieter, and no question in her words.] Besides, you've already had a fight today.

[...oh. fucking vantas.]

Fuckin' Wantas.

[he mutters it, hand rolling through his tragically fucked up hair, and averts his eyes to sigh and shrug.]

Yeah, sort of. [the gash in his wrist doesn't say "sort of", but he ignores the implication.] I took care of it. We're fine. Nothin' happened besides some scufflin', if you're worried. [with a sudden edge to it, defensively:] I didn't kill him or anythin'.

I know you didn't kill him. [she moves the umbrella from one hand to the other, moving it to shield them both from the cold winter downpour.] I don't even care that he's the one you fought, really, I've gotten in a fight with him before, that's not... why I was worried.

[which is good, because this human form is bullshit when it comes to resisting the elements. he doesn't realize he's tucked his arms up around himself until the sudden lack of freezing rain reminds him.]

Why - wait.

[he cocks his head, grasping wildly at any distraction.]

When the fuck did you get in a fight?

Back in Venezuela. [she sounds almost as if she's asking a question, like she wasn't expecting to ever talk about this. her empty hand fusses with the loose end of her scarf.] I don't remember what happened, really, but one minute we were shouting at one another, the next thing I know I've got a knife trying to carve out the troll equivalent of a spleen, he's got that hook thing stuck in my ribs, and I'm covered in blood.

[of course, now that her hand is drawing attention to it, she hasn't gone without something wrapped around her neck since coming back from break. or since the halloween party. or--

she huffs.] It was months ago.

[it's nearly unconscious, the way he tries to flip this on her, to turn around what he sees as an interrogation. he recrosses his arms, this time less for warmth and more for muted severity.]

You didn't tell me about that.

[he hasn't noticed the scarf; continues not to notice it. he just assumes she's picking up on his AMAZING SENSE OF FASHION and started wearing scarves nonstop too.]

[wwhoops. she bites her lower lip--chapped, red lines marking where her teeth usually fall--and her shoulders tighten.]

I didn't tell you in exchange for him not telling Gamzee. [still fear strung to the name.] Or anyone. Besides, I don't even know how it happened.

Yeah. Fair enough.

[ugh it's freezing out here. he glances around, gauges the likelihood of wrapping this up and holing up again to be hilariously low. pneumonia sounds singularly unpleasant.]

Listen, you... want to come inside and talk about this?

[you might as well have dragged that offer out of him with prolonged torture from how he heaves the words out.]

[kicking and screaming or not, she's not particularly interested in getting sick either.]

Yeah. This rain's not going to let up any time soon.

[... god she hopes he's not going to make her climb in through the fucking window.]

[luckily he has slightly more self-respect in her presence! enough to go try the door, cuss when he realizes it's still locked, dig out his keys, and unlock it.

he's also nice enough to hold it open for her. it's like an unspoken apology, almost, if eridan ever apologized for anything ever.]

I got cocoa abowe the stowe, if you want. Feels like stupid suckin' down shitty chocolate powder and marshmallows alone.

[while he's distracted with getting the door open, she skims him over for any other visible damage from the fight. the bandage is obvious, of course, but it could have a comrade somewhere. if there is anything, though, it's disguised well enough; he doesn't seem to be favoring one side more than the other.

she crosses the threshold with a bowed head, accepting the polite chivalry—maybe even for what he means it to be, but who knows—without further comment. once inside, she's immediately folding up her umbrella, taking off her coat.

making herself more at home around eridan than she usually can in her own house.]

As long as you don't make me suffer it alone, that sounds fine enough.

[mundane as the topic is now, her voice strains on that word. "alone." that fear of loneliness, as much a part of her as her scars, is heightened by the residual of karkat's breakdown now lodged in her heart; the attempted flippancy of the comment fails, and her usually dry tone is instead bleeding a little too honest.]

how many times can it escalate

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