Revised Third Person Sample
He wondered if Nepeta fully understood what he was trying to tell her. If she could read between the lines of "I want you to hide behind that grate" and see the unspoken "because I'm going to die, and I won't be able to protect you." If she realized that "Goodbye" meant "I'm not coming back."
He wondered if Karkat understood that he'd sent him to die. He told him he would not raise a hand against the Highblood for any reason, and that included defending himself.
He wondered why he was following through with his orders. Though Karkat generally behaved as a the group's leader figure, Equius told himself that he only went along with his plans because he was waiting for Karkat to fail, but this was different. Gamzee had assumed his place atop the hemospectrum, and was out for blood. Equius knew he couldn't, he wouldn't fight against him, if the Highblood wanted him to die. It wasn't his place. Furthermore, it wasn't Karkat's place to send him against the Highblood, and if he so desired, he could have hidden away with Nepeta, spending the last, precious few moments he had with his moirail. He could explain in detail to her what would happen when Gamzee arrived, how he would kill her himself by taking her in his arms for the first, and only, time to spare her the pain of watching him die at the Highblood's hands. Explain why it had to happen this way, why he couldn't raise a hand against Gamzee, why he clung to his beliefs, even though they would ultimately be his and her undoing. Surely dieing together at the hands of their blood superior was the most favorable scenario.
But he knew she would never agree to such a thing, and would try to talk him out of it. She would fight him, tooth and claw if need be, over the matter, and it would turn into a huge, pointless affair. This way, perhaps, she could delude herself into thinking he would come back, hauling a once more subdued Gamzee in tow. It was stupid, and wrong, but he never could instill a proper sense of place in her, no matter how hard he tried. It was just more proof that not even having a moirail of high standing could cure bad blood. Let her have her delusion; perhaps she could at least die happy.
As for him, he could not be more eager. He felt no fear when he considered his own end, and in fact, even thought upon it with anticipation. To receive such eternal punishment from a Highblood... He suppressed a shudder and refrained from palming himself through his shorts, instead retrieving a towel from his sylladex and wiping himself down. It would not do to approach the Highblood in such a state, or to tarry needlessly. He would find him, and then...
He paused, spying a chest tucked in a corner and smelling the stink of desperation in the air. Eridan was here. And while an encounter with him was not something Equius was looking forward too, at least that highblood he could properly subdue. After all, there was nothing wrong with a landdweller filleting a seadweller like the fish they were.
He opened the chest to see what the purpleblood had left behind, and sneered to himself. Ahab's Crosshairs. The irony of killing Eridan with his own weapon was evident even to him, and he picked the gun up, chuckling to himself. Ding ding, supper is served. Fried fish is on the menu tonight, hopefully everyone brought their appetites.
Except the moment he raised it to his shoulder, he crushed the barrel in his hands. Fiddlesticks. He captchallogued it without much thought, moving to continue down the dim hallways of the ectobiology lab. Maybe he'd fix it later, or maybe he wouldn't. Maybe he could pull it out and use it to taunt the arrogant, yet so very pathetic and spineless seadweller. Surely there was some irony in that to be appreciated as well.
But it wasn't Eridan he found. It wasn't Gamzee, either. It was a large suit of mobile armor - excuse him, formerly mobile - with arrows sticking out of the joints and faceplate. Fascinating, and yet, perplexing. He was the only troll with any interest in archery, and yet he had not done this. And such shots had to have come from extremely skilled hands...
He shook his head and continued on, the hallway getting darker and darker. It wasn't his place to sit and marvel over meaningless mysteries. Let Pyrope behave as such, he would perform the task placed in front of him; seeking one Highblood or the other.
And he would find him.
The word someday rose unbidden in his mind as the darkness enshrouded him, attaching itself to the previous thought, as if it had some meaning.
He wondered if Karkat understood that he'd sent him to die. He told him he would not raise a hand against the Highblood for any reason, and that included defending himself.
He wondered why he was following through with his orders. Though Karkat generally behaved as a the group's leader figure, Equius told himself that he only went along with his plans because he was waiting for Karkat to fail, but this was different. Gamzee had assumed his place atop the hemospectrum, and was out for blood. Equius knew he couldn't, he wouldn't fight against him, if the Highblood wanted him to die. It wasn't his place. Furthermore, it wasn't Karkat's place to send him against the Highblood, and if he so desired, he could have hidden away with Nepeta, spending the last, precious few moments he had with his moirail. He could explain in detail to her what would happen when Gamzee arrived, how he would kill her himself by taking her in his arms for the first, and only, time to spare her the pain of watching him die at the Highblood's hands. Explain why it had to happen this way, why he couldn't raise a hand against Gamzee, why he clung to his beliefs, even though they would ultimately be his and her undoing. Surely dieing together at the hands of their blood superior was the most favorable scenario.
But he knew she would never agree to such a thing, and would try to talk him out of it. She would fight him, tooth and claw if need be, over the matter, and it would turn into a huge, pointless affair. This way, perhaps, she could delude herself into thinking he would come back, hauling a once more subdued Gamzee in tow. It was stupid, and wrong, but he never could instill a proper sense of place in her, no matter how hard he tried. It was just more proof that not even having a moirail of high standing could cure bad blood. Let her have her delusion; perhaps she could at least die happy.
As for him, he could not be more eager. He felt no fear when he considered his own end, and in fact, even thought upon it with anticipation. To receive such eternal punishment from a Highblood... He suppressed a shudder and refrained from palming himself through his shorts, instead retrieving a towel from his sylladex and wiping himself down. It would not do to approach the Highblood in such a state, or to tarry needlessly. He would find him, and then...
He paused, spying a chest tucked in a corner and smelling the stink of desperation in the air. Eridan was here. And while an encounter with him was not something Equius was looking forward too, at least that highblood he could properly subdue. After all, there was nothing wrong with a landdweller filleting a seadweller like the fish they were.
He opened the chest to see what the purpleblood had left behind, and sneered to himself. Ahab's Crosshairs. The irony of killing Eridan with his own weapon was evident even to him, and he picked the gun up, chuckling to himself. Ding ding, supper is served. Fried fish is on the menu tonight, hopefully everyone brought their appetites.
Except the moment he raised it to his shoulder, he crushed the barrel in his hands. Fiddlesticks. He captchallogued it without much thought, moving to continue down the dim hallways of the ectobiology lab. Maybe he'd fix it later, or maybe he wouldn't. Maybe he could pull it out and use it to taunt the arrogant, yet so very pathetic and spineless seadweller. Surely there was some irony in that to be appreciated as well.
But it wasn't Eridan he found. It wasn't Gamzee, either. It was a large suit of mobile armor - excuse him, formerly mobile - with arrows sticking out of the joints and faceplate. Fascinating, and yet, perplexing. He was the only troll with any interest in archery, and yet he had not done this. And such shots had to have come from extremely skilled hands...
He shook his head and continued on, the hallway getting darker and darker. It wasn't his place to sit and marvel over meaningless mysteries. Let Pyrope behave as such, he would perform the task placed in front of him; seeking one Highblood or the other.
And he would find him.
The word someday rose unbidden in his mind as the darkness enshrouded him, attaching itself to the previous thought, as if it had some meaning.