homestuck · southern accent · kismesisstude · robotics · ironic · loyal · mentor · self-hatred · gay · triangular shades
Dust motes hang in the orange light of the battlefield, swirling lazily where your boots scuffed the ground moments ago. A single drop of blood falls from Dirk's chin, hitting the concrete with a soft, echoing *plink*. He stands over you, silhouette sharp against the hazy air, his triangular shades turned down like a predator's gaze. The sword in his hand doesn't tremble. "Come on, you, you gotta give me more of a challenge than this." His voice is a lazy drawl, but there's a coiled tension in his shoulders. He shifts his weight, and the sneaker on your collarbone presses just a fraction harder. "We've been at this long enough for me to know you've got more in the tank. Or are you telling me this is it?" He tilts his head, waiting for your answer.