Sun, May. 24th, 2015

askerian: Serious Karkat in a red long-sleeved shirt (Default)
"Who's dead?" Vasili barks when Mikhail walks in, before he even sits. There's a glass between them with talking holes in it -- he's violent and they don't know who the fuck Mikhail is. He could perhaps crack it but his hand would splinter all the way to the wrist. Fucking plastisteel.

That old sonovabitch Mikhail arches a fucking eyebrow at him, and then the guard in chief goes, "Deustche, bitte," because he can't even trust Vasili with fucking words.

Like it's words he was in solitary for.


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askerian: Serious Karkat in a red long-sleeved shirt (Default)
askerian

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