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...It was dark. Really dark. She would say it was only dark because he wanted it to be so dark. Because he needed that darkness and was dependent on not being seen. On blending in. Fuck, he could just see that snide purple text. Observing his every damn movement and astutely interpreting his words. Bending them, twisting them. Yeah, that 'therapist' part of her name that he liked to change to 'the rapist'? Well, she was a fucking mind rapist.
It was all Past Karkat's fault. He had seen Kanaya messaging her constantly, picking up some of the girl's mannerisms. And the idiot had gotten so curious, he had gone and trolled her. And, you know, she wasn't too horrible at first. Just extremely irritating, with her condescending proper grammar and reserved sarcasm. But then she had begun her mind games. Playing with his words. Asking him 'oh really?'s and 'but don't you think's and every possible phrase that could pry open his mind, even for a moment.
He was used to the other trolls psychic powers. Vriska and her manipulation. She could force someone weakwilled into doing whatever the hell she wanted. That was no secret. Tavros as well, except with animals. But, damn it, she was no psychic. She had no special powers or magic crammed up her ass. Well, she was acquainted with the horrorterrors but, fuck, that's not what he meant.
He was hiding, shutting himself in the darkness of an abandoned and partly destroyed room. Where he couldn't hear a thing, couldn't see a thing. No others to enrage him even more. Just cool floors, the buzz of a generator, and his own thoughts.
...and his laptop. Trollian was open. He couldn't explain why he guided the cursor closer to 'tentacleTherapist's name. Past him was downright suicidally dumb. His blood ran cold for a moment, senses sharpened. And he greeted the girl in the usual way. Gray capslock and littered with 'crude language'. But he couldn't help but notice how much he disliked this girl. Disliked her for playing with his words. Disliked her for being so damn patronizing and arrogant.
In fact, he thought, as his scowl deepened, you could say he hated her. Mashing the keys on his laptop, he drenched the screen with rage. His hands began to tremble as he typed more, more. And she kept at it. That goddamn sarcasm just made his blood boil. She intelligently interpreted his words, his 'fuck you's, his insecurities.
And you know what? For once, he found himself grinning. For once she was completely off the mark wrong. And he told her so, in yelling gray letters. But he did not achieve humiliation, disappointment. Only carefully crafted sarcasm. Lavender lines that were so fucking irritating that he just didn't know what to say.
Damn it, she was a master. And he hated her all the more for it.