son of the nightstalker ❁ karl&haze

He ends up stuck in place, becomes a fixed feature in the train car like some kind of hunched over gargoyle. Freshly eighteen and already facing back pain - it's a trick of the trade. Body hauling's murder on the spinal cord.

But he sits there with Haizea and Harbinger and Katelyn and Kirito and Kassandra. And then he still sits there when they all just sort of. Leave. One by one.

He blends into the upholstery, forgotten, and ends up there alone, tapping his fingers against his knee. It's possible that he just starts dissociating. The car goes quiet and the automatic lights shut off, the sun casts low patterns against the walls. It'd be funny if they thought they'd lost him, or that he escaped somehow, jumped out of the train or suffocated in the throw pillows, meanwhile he was just where they left him the whole time.

It'd be funny. He laughs about it but his face never moves.

It's not that big of a deal. He blinks and it's dark, he's long and lanky and perched on the back of the couch, shoulders against the window and eating sugary sweet cereal out of a bright yellow mug that says MARSHA MARSHA MARSHA !

There's an avox that scurries through the car at some point and he stops mid crunch, but she doesn't notice him. It takes another blink before anyone else comes in. Karl kinda freezes again, spoon full of marshmallows halfway to his mouth.

She turns, finally sees him, screams-

"Hi."

His spoon clinks against the mug. Whoever said you couldn't make a second first impression was lying.

Maybe that's a good thing, he's never been great with people. He'd gotten no visitors in the Justice Building - why would he? He's basically a walking ghost at this point. He'd sat alone in the room until one of the Peacekeepers came in and held him against the wall, fished his notebook out of his pocket before he could do anything about it.

"How long have you been out here?"

"The whole time, I think."

The panic's just dulled now. It's fallen into that safe category of numbness he's gotten more and more used to over the years. He's all muted red behind the eyes.

"How long have you been here?"

The lights make his eyes water, like he's somehow become nocturnal in the past few hours. He scrunches his face and blinks the sting away and opens his eyes up real wide. It'll probably help if he does it long enough.

Haizea is kind of like the lights. Bright and sudden and kind of making his eyes water.

"I dunno," She bites out, he keeps blinking real hard, "the entire time?"

That's fair, he tells her so, nodding along. She's taking advantage of having a bunch of experienced killers on the train with them, she's more prepared than he is. It's not that he doesn't care, he's just more apathetic. It hasn't quite sunk in yet.

Haze turns away from the table, light halo, can of olives, want a treat?

Karl looks at her flatly, looks at the jar. He can feel the jibe pressed behind her teeth, the boot grinding into his back, the names hurled at him over the broken section of the fence. Silly little cranberry boy, family missing, home gone, more bodies than anyone knows what to do with.

He reaches over and takes three of the olives in his palm, then drops them in his cup of cereal. He dunks the spoon and sticks it in his mouth and chews the whole thing slowly, watching Haze until he swallows unflinchingly.

"You're an Izar." He says finally.

Name like that's practically a celebrity in a place like Eleven. Even the cryptid kid from the bog knows them.

"Sorry, I guess. About all the dead ones."