what kind of lyrics am i supposed to put to this

[crab]

WHO: karkat and loki.
WHERE: doorstep of residence #10.
WHEN: march 9.
WHAT: avon lady loki making his rounds. karkat buys guyliner.
WARNINGS: tbd.

[ It's been a stressful week, so any expectations of a warm welcome, when the doorbell rings, should be quickly dashed, when it's answered by one Karkat Vantas: short, angry, and perpetually some shade of distressed. ]

What do you want?

Comments

[selfimage]

[lucky for Loki, he takes everything very easily in stride. in fact, he didn't even bother changing out of his usual Asgardian attire that consisted of his impractical coat and golden horned tiara.

oh look, real horns.

he doesn't miss a beat, and continues smoothly.]

That's the wrong question. The real question should be: what do you want?

i hope you didn't die of old age

[crab]

What I want to know is what in the name of the delicate aroma of late stage crotch rot you're doing on my fucking doorstep, which returns us to my original question.

[ Arms fold across his chest, and his eyes linger on those golden horns. Huh. ]

I also wouldn't object to an explanation of what you think you're prancing around with on your head.

as long as you're not a wrinkled mass rn

[selfimage]

I'm of the Aesir, it's a helm. You know, a thing you put on your head. Occasionally it's decorative, but most of the time it causes poor insults to bounce off of the fine craftsmanship and echo back into the depths of a very vast, very large omniverse.

[he leans in a bit as if to say "what's your excuse?" but doesn't seem to off-put by their differences. actually, it hardly seems to phase him. he makes a motion with his hand and somehow, despite Karkat's impressive frown, looks enthusiastic.]

I have something that could cheer you up. It would perk up that sour expression of yours, and chase all those tenacious solicitors from your porch.

[as if he wasn't one, himself.]