Work Text:
It's been almost a perigee since Strider declared you two to be Earth Bros, a proclamation he sealed with an odd hand-to-hand punch appropriately called a fist bump, a gesture he has greeted you with consistently since. In that time he has only gone out of his way to piss you off once, and you're still not entirely certain that the act of hiding the thermal hull in the downstairs ablution stall was directed at you specifically and not a general prank - though, since that's the only ablution stall you ever use, you're still pretty damn sure.
These facts, when combined, should put your mind at ease. You have bigger things to worry about than Strider's idiocy anyway. Dream bubbles are at least a weekly occurrence and have yet to come with more than 30 minutes of warning, even since the discovery that Terezi could smell them coming before any of you could see them. Even that much warning is rare, since no one is ever quite bored enough to keep lookout for more than a few minutes at a time. As a result, you have been caught in numerous compromising positions, from watching earth "reality television", to asleep, to using the fucking load gaper, by any number of dead trolls, including yourself on at least one occasion.
Theoretically, that's what you should be concerned about at all times. When is the next time you're going to have a bossy, sassy highblood princess sashay in and try to pocket several of your movies? When is the next time you're going to catch Kanaya insisting she is not glaring daggers at the seadweller she sawed in half? When are you next going to have to tear Vriska's ranting, eyeless form off of Terezi - an unsettling experience in its own right because some time in the last half a sweep you both outgrew her - and then pretend you aren't still harboring some kind of red (you don't even know what kind of red, just red) feelings for her as she runs off to sulk (definitely not cry, she never cries) because that one wasn't the "real" Vriska either?
When are you next going to be caught by your pathetically wingless god-tier doomed timeline self, or worse (because on the bright side, you finally found something worse), that longwinded dancestor of yours, with your pants around your ankles, your ass on the can, and your nose so buried in one of the lettergrid puzzle books that Rose so graciously alchemized for you that you don't even notice they're there until you suddenly realize there's grass under your feet where the concrete should be.
These are the real questions, the important ones, the concerns you SHOULD be having. They sure as fuck haven't become mundane enough to stop bothering you yet. With another sweep to go on your retarded space voyage, you're certain mundanity is a foregone conclusion, but it's certain in the same way that Dave waving dramatically and saying "Space, the Final Frontier" every time you call it a "retarded space voyage" is certain, which is a very similar sort of certain to the inevitability of your fist dislocating Strider's jaw around the tenth time he says it, not that you've been keeping count.
The point being, the bullshit keeping your thinkpan preoccupied should be dead trolls are fucking obnoxious bullshit, not what the fuck is Strider up to anyway bullshit, especially when he hasn't done anything remotely suspicious in several weeks. And yet somehow, that's exactly the problem.
As you explain all this, you shift a little on the pile, which of course sets off a muted but by now familiar chorus of honking noises, then sigh in relief when Gamzee finally reaches up and tussles your hair before pulling you in for a hug. The sensation is oddly gratifying, even if you're still not used to having a moirail or letting anyone actually touch you outside of high fives.
It's probably the first time you've felt like your moiraillegiance with Gamzee is truly mutual, as well, instead of you playing ashen between him and the rest of the world. For the first couple perigees, he'd been so unsettled by the dream bubbles that you hadn't dared bring up your own problems during your paledates. But he seems to have calmed back down and, while his mind is a little sharper than the eternally sopored guy you'd known back on Alternia, by now you feel comfortable correcting the others that his name is Gamzee, not Murderclown. Plus, everyone he seemed at risk for killing is either already dead or immortal anyway, which makes your role as his custodian a lot simpler.
He rests his chin squarely between your horns and begins to drawl, accompanied by a sway that might be an attempt at rocking you or might just be bad balance, but it causes a rhythmic squeaking from the hornpile that mimics the way his own volume varies from phrase to phrase.
He tells you things will be fine, that these things have a way of working themselves out, and that you shouldn't be worrying your motherfuckin head over Strider. He's not sure how humans manage to get by with only one quadrant, because life without the miracle of moirallegiance must be sad as shit, but he's pretty sure that Strider doesn't mean any motherfuckin harm with his pranks, and he figures being bros is some human way of calling a truce, like how "no homo" is apparently a human way of saying stuff that looks like pitch or flushed flirtin is just regular hate or affection, nothing concupiscent. You know, just another of those dumb motherfuckin human rituals.
He gets distracted for a second while trying to pronounce a few of the words, and you reach up to pap him on the cheek when he goes too quiet for a minute, just to see if he's fallen asleep on you.
He chuckles - even his light laughter makes his chest rumble and the room echo, though that part might just be a side effect of his room being made of air duct - and tells you you're a good motherfucker, and asks if you knows what he means.
You answer with a whatever that sounds minimally flustered, and give him what is probably the tightest hug you have ever given anyone since your grub days, even including during that week you were whatever you were with Terezi.
You try to let yourself fall asleep with him petting your hair, because it's nice to have things be peaceful for a change, but somehow that peace just makes trying to sleep even harder than normal, because it just seems too good to be true.
--
ROSE: My sincere apologies.
You freeze, nearly dropping jug of juice you've got tucked under one arm. You save it, only to nearly drop the jar of grubsauce instead, so you opt to shut the thermal hull door and set them on the counter beside the loaf of bread before you bother answering her.
KARKAT: WHAT THE FUCK FOR.
ROSE: Hopefully, nothing. However, I anticipate my dear brother is going to make himself a nuisance to you some time in the next few wake cycles. More of a nuisance than his standard behavioral patterns, that is.
KARKAT: THEN WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU THE ONE APOLOGIZING?
She gives a wistful sigh, popping open the nutrition plateau cleansing apparatus and retrieving a trio of glasses from it - you don't think any dishes have made it all the way back into the cupboards since about the third week of the trip - and passing you one before turning on the faucet to fill the other two.
ROSE: I'm afraid I'm at least somewhat to blame for this specific round of foolishness. I made the amateur mistake of feeding his rather juvenile curiosity, and suspect I may have supplied him with fodder for your torment.
KARKAT: MEANING?!
ROSE: He noted your extended absence yesterday morning and inquired as to your whereabouts. Naturally this lead to questions regarding the activities one might consider typical of a paledate. I believe his specific wording was, "so what kind of homo shit are karkles and the clown up to anyway".
KARKAT: OF COURSE THAT'S WHAT HE SAID. THAT NOOKWHIFFING MORON HAS NO CONCEPT OF CONCILIATORY RELATIONSHIPS. EVERY TIME HE OPENS HIS MOUTH I ASK MYSELF HOW MUCH CLEANING SOLUTION HIS HUMAN LUSUS POISONED HIS FOOD WITH AS A WIGGLER FOR HIS THINKPAN TO BE SO UNDERDEVELOPED.
ROSE: I believe the emotionally stunting phenomenon you're mistaking for child abuse is known to humans as public middle school.
KARKAT: WHAT?
She giggles - it's a smug, superior sound, like basically every other other noise that comes from her, but you're used to shifty females by now and you'll gladly take Lalonde's haughtiness over Vriska's full-blown megalomania any wake cycle. She casts the full side of the sink a glance, like she's wondering whether this conversation will last long enough for her to get them clean. You hope not.
You inform her of this with an exasperated sigh.
ROSE: As amusing as it would have been to quiz him on the homoerotic imagery his subconscious was painting, I thought it was only proper to set the record straight.
KARKAT: ...YOU TRIED TO TELL STRIDER WHAT MOIRALLEGIANCE ENTAILS.
ROSE: As much as I hate to admit my own linguistic shortcomings... Yes, "try" was likely the operative term in this situation. It's extraordinarily difficult to make someone understand something when they don't wish to.
KARKAT: NO FUCKING SHIT.
ROSE: You know, Vantas, you're remarkably good at making people rescind their apologies. It's an almost charming quality.
You consider telling her to fuck off, but you've learned by now that Lalonde will always have the last word in anything so there's no point in bothering. She makes an almost disappointed noise, and you want to snap at her and tell her you don't need her antagonizing you too, but then you hear the glasses slide off the counter and she's on her way out of the room.
You grimace, because you know damn well she could have just sat back and watched your torment instead of giving you time to prepare. As things stand, you seem to be the only living member of any of your species capable of remorse (except maybe the Mayor, but you can't imagine him doing anything to feel remorse over), and it's an emotion you wouldn't mind fostering in others to share the burden of now and then. If you don't say thanks now, who knows what she'll do next time.
KARKAT: THANKS FOR THE WARNING.
ROSE: Don't mention it!
Then again, there's always the chance that her warning is nothing but a setup and you've just walked into another of her famed psychological experiments.
Thinking about it is only making you lose your appetite, so you take the opportunity to slam your forehead against the thermal hull repeatedly instead.
--
You're uneasy around Dave for the next couple of days. You try not to let on that you are, because of course that'll just make shit worse, not to mention you're fairly sure that if he knows that you know he's about to perform an act of unfathomable idiocy, he'll find some way to dial it up another few proverbial decibels.
For what it's worth, he seems to halfway be avoiding you as well, and attempting to keep yourself separate from the others helps ensure that what contact you do share is little more than a nod here and there.
Jackassary is a spectator sport to Strider. Depriving him of an audience means he's got no one to laugh at you with once he walks away, not to mention no one to get his body out of the hallway until he respawns if you decide you're completely sick of his shit. Gamzee hasn't tried to kill anyone or take any bodies for like three perigee now, but even you admit that the best way to keep him cold gobblebeast is to avoid leaving anything around to tempt him.
The next time you talk to him and either one of you says more than "sup" is when you find him in front of the thermal hull an hour into the sleep cycle. This time you're the one just here for a glass of water while he's loading a bottle of soda onto the counter, his other hand full of food he's already eating. You recognize it as a "hot pocket", something you initially applauded for its relatively straightforward name compared to most human foods. Since then, you've become completely certain Strider made them up to fuck with you. Pizza was already an outrageous, over-involved enough food concept that, were it not alarmingly delicious, you would have added it to the ever-growing list of things you fucked up about the humans' universe. Hot pockets, on the other hand, are just flat out moronic. They're little more than a pizza folded over on itself and cut into rectangles that can hardly be justified as a snack, let alone a meal, not to mention there's no way to eat one without burning your mouth, and what little deliciousness they inherited from pizza is ruined by the sheer amount of bread involved.
Rose once tried to explain that humans eat a lot more grain than trolls do, and that many meals are based around it because it's inexpensive compared to vegetables and protein. She never had come up with a defense to your response that having to pay for food was retarded, so you've long since added that to the mistake list, too.
He notices you sneering at his hot pocket and greets you through a mouthful.
DAVE: sup
DAVE: theres more in the freezer if you want one
DAVE: sorry i mean the subzero nutrition containment chamber or whatever you guys call it
KARKAT: IT'S CALLED A FREEZER, BULGE FOR BRAINS.
DAVE: i like my version better
DAVE: so sup
He makes an awkward gesture with his lips that you take a second to recognize as trying to blow his bangs out of his face. They almost cover his glasses on one side, and his ears are similarly hidden.
He looks more ridiculous than normal.
KARKAT: WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CUT YOUR FUCKING HAIR. I ALMOST MISTOOK YOU FOR LALONDE.
DAVE: ouch
DAVE: stings dude
DAVE: fyi i was going for the jesse mccartney look
KARKAT: WHO?
DAVE: you could use a haircut yourself
DAVE: seriously its like you don't even have horns anymore
DAVE: you almost look normal
KARKAT: DON'T THINK I DON'T HAVE MY FUCKING SICKLE ON ME, NOOKSUCKER.
DAVE: ok geez calm down
He does his "no one on this fucking meteor can take a joke" sigh, which you only recognize because it's probably the most common noise on the meteor, then finishes pouring his orange soda and shoves it back in the fridge. You sort of want to inform him that insulting a troll's horns is literally worse than insulting their honor, but you've been avoiding letting on to that so he won't intentionally use it against you. Plus you're tired and would rather just be asleep, and you were until you had a nightmare. You only wound up in the kitchen in the first place to walk off the adrenalin, and strifing won't help that in the least.
He doesn't stop staring at you the whole time you're getting your water. Not even after the fridge door is shut, and since that makes the nearest light a few meters down the hall you're pretty fucking sure he can't see shit between his crappy human nightvision and those stupid sunglasses. He finishes his hot pocket, then takes the most nonchalant drink of his soda ever managed by a sentient being. Just as you're about to snap at him again, because pretending you can't tell he's fucking staring is pissing you off, he crosses his arms and leans against the counter.
DAVE: so rose says you dont actually mack on the murderclown
KARKAT: WHAT? NO. FUCK NO. WE'RE PALE, NOT FLUSHED.
You'd ask him what the fuck is wrong with him, but you already know the answer is that he's human, and you're too busy being bewildered to be properly angry anyway.
DAVE: then what the hell do you do for nine and a half hours at a time
DAVE: thats a long fucking date even with tongue action
KARKAT: FIRST OF ALL, WHAT DO *YOU* DO ON A DATE FOR NINE AND A HALF HOURS THAT YOU'RE ASSUMING SHIT LIKE THAT.
KARKAT: SECOND, DON'T FUCKING ANSWER THAT BECAUSE YOU ALREADY BROUGHT TEREZI'S TONGUE INTO THIS AND I DON'T NEED THAT THOUGHT IN MY HEAD.
KARKAT: THIRD, IT TAKES LIKE AN HOUR OF THAT JUST TO FIND HIM BECAUSE WHOEVER DESIGNED THE DUCTWORK ON THIS HELLHOLE WAS CLEARLY A FAN OF ABSTRACT ART.
KARKAT: AND FOURTH, DIDN'T YOU EVER HANG OUT WITH YOUR HUMAN FRIENDS?
DAVE: not really
DAVE: just online
DAVE: our apartment wasnt exactly child friendly
KARKAT: OKAY FINE. YOU AND LALONDE ARE CLOSE. WHAT WOULD YOU DO ALONE WITH HER FOR A WAKE CYCLE?
DAVE: dunno
DAVE: listen to her talk about freud and my subconscious and shit i guess
DAVE: maybe give her shit about the cthulu thing smore
KARKAT: THERE. THAT'S KIND OF WHAT A PALEDATE IS LIKE. OR AT LEAST AS CLOSE ARE YOUR EMOTIONALLY VOID HUMAN THINKPAN IS CAPABLE OF COMPREHENDING.
DAVE: are you saying im dating my slime sister?
KARKAT: I'M SAYING YOU'RE A BULGELICKING FUCKASS WITH THE MENTAL CAPACITY OF A WIGGLER. I MIGHT AS WELL BE TALKING TO THE THERMAL HULL. IN FACT, YOU CAN LEAVE, I'M SURE IT AND I WILL HAVE A FAR MORE ENGAGING CONVERSATION WITHOUT YOU HERE ROUTING THE TALK TRAIN BACK TO HORSESHITVILLE BY UNLEASHING AN IRONIC AVALANCHE ONTO THE TRACKS EVERY TIME YOU OPEN YOUR FUCKING MOUTH.
DAVE: so thats a yes?
KARKAT: NO, YOU IDIOT. I'M SAYING I WANT TO KISS GAMZEE ABOUT AS MUCH AS YOU WANT TO KISS LALONDE, AND THAT IF YOU'D JUST GET THROUGH SOME OF THE MOVIES I GAVE YOU, YOU'D UNDERSTAND THAT.
In retrospect, you're pretty sure the only movie you loaned him which gave anyone's moirail more than a few minutes of spotlight was about a pale couple masquerading as flushed to avoid culling by drones, only for the cobalt blood's old matesprit, who he thought was dead following an intense battle in colony space, to return and force him to choose between him or his lowblooded moirail, knowing the other would likely die. That sort of plotline was a fad when you were a pupa, so you have a bit of a nostalgic soft-spot for them, but now that he's asking you idiotic questions you're not sure you should have included that specific movie in the Beginners Guide to Quadrants folder you gave Strider. You'll have to pick out a more moirallegiance-focused movie to remedy this. Maybe one with more slapstick to grab his attention. You'd go all out and find something with lots of bare rumblespheres, since that's even more likely to keep him focused, but you've only got a few titles that raunchy and you'd rather him not accuse it of being your porn stash.
DAVE: yeah romcoms arent really my thing
KARKAT: NO, REALLY?
DAVE: i prefer like 90s action shit
DAVE: or like made for tv dinosaur movies
DAVE: those are hilariously bad its amazing
DAVE: oh shit did trollplanet even have dinosaurs
KARKAT: WHAT THE HELL IS A DINOSAUR?
DAVE: theyre like dragons but real
DAVE: except theyre all fucking dead because of some fucking meteor like 65 million years ago
DAVE: holy shit i wonder if that was an sburb meteor
DAVE: probably since this game ruined everything else awesome
KARKAT: IF THEY'RE ALL DEAD HOW DO THEY MAKE MOVIES ABOUT THEM?
DAVE: shitty cgi mostly
It takes you a moment to realize that Strider has managed to, once again, derail the conversation, and you express your disapproval by dumping out your untouched glass in the sink as loudly as you can.
DAVE: orange soda?
KARKAT: NO YOU FUCKWIT. I'M GOING TO BED BECAUSE I'M SICK OF HEARING YOU RUN YOUR WINDHOLE.
DAVE: ouch
DAVE: im just trying to make conversation
DAVE: yknow do some cultural exchange bs i ask a question you ask a question type thing
KARKAT: I DIDN'T ASK YOU ANY FUCKING QUESTIONS.
DAVE: you asked me what the hell a dinosaur is
KARKAT: OKAY BESIDES THAT.
DAVE: you asked what rose and i do alone all day
DAVE: which lets face it is a little creepy
DAVE: just sayin
KARKAT: FUCK YOU. YOU ASKED ME ABOUT GAMZEE FIRST.
DAVE: you still didnt really tell me what you guys do
KARKAT: I DID THE BEST I COULD CONSIDERING YOU HAVE THE EMOTIONAL CAPACITY OF A SHED PUPA SHELL.
DAVE: ill have you know im actually a very deep fragile soul
DAVE: words hurt bro
DAVE: i might cry
DAVE: quick i need a fist bump to heal my wounds before the tears start to fall i might never live down the shame of crying twice in my life
KARKAT: SEE THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I FUCKING MEAN. YOU ASK ME A SERIOUS QUESTION AND THEN YOU SHIT ALL OVER IT.
KARKAT: YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT THE FUCK TROLLS DO WITH THEIR MOIRAILS SO BADLY? GO WAKE UP KANAYA AND ASK HER. HELL, ASK TEREZI. I'M SURE SHE'LL EXPLAIN IT IN OBSCURE LEGAL-ESE WITH A SIDE OF PUPPETS GETTING OFFED, BUT HEY, IT'S NOT LIKE YOU'LL BE FUCKING LISTENING ANYWAY.
He lowers his hand, then doesn't move for a good minute. You'd call it a staring contest except you can't see his eyes to see if he's blinking or not. Finally he takes a slow sip of soda again, careful not to move anything but his arm, as though he's carefully considering your words before he speaks.
DAVE: sure you dont want any?
Of course, that would require him to actually give a fuck to begin with.
KARKAT: FUCK THIS. I'M GOING BACK TO SLEEP.
You storm off back toward the transportalizer, going so far as to kill the light in the hall on your way. It's worth stumbling down the last bit of hall blindly to hear Dave's muttered cursing in distance.
--
When you wake up, you're still pretty pissed about the whole situation. To make matters worse, the fact you're mad at Strider directly means you can't go play video games with him to vent like you normally would, and mashing buttons all day is honestly more exciting than re-watching old movies and keeping a lookout for dream bubbles. All in all, you're looking at a day filled to the brim with boredom and hatred-stewing.
You sit down at your husktop for a moment and open your private memo-page, because yelling at yourself has become your go-to when you're pissed off. You're pretty sure that memo page is the only thing that's kept you from buckling under Dave's idiotic pseudo-black bullshit and doing something that'll only make shit worse. Of course, if he were a troll, it'd be the obvious solution, but naturally the guy giving you a headache had to be an alien, and aliens have their stupid "no homo" bullshit, not that you're interested past "let's get this shit out of our systems" anyway.
You still don't get that thing about humans though. You tried asking Lalonde once - but, aren't you homo?, to which she'd smiled and said very - so you've since given up because, despite whatever weird stress disorder caused your hour of Egbert delusions, humans are fugly anyway. You make a mental note to question Kanaya's tastes to her face the next time you see her.
Go figure, there's no memo on the page with the appropriate timestamps on it for you to be arguing with yourself today. You open one anyway, typing in a few different insults, but you backspace all of them, snarling a little louder each time. Finally you just slam your head into the keyboard, then slam the whole thing shut and shove your chair back in. You don't even captchalogue it, though you do snatch up scissors and a mirror from your clothing organization drawers, because even if he was wrong about everything else Strider still had a point about your hair needing cut.
You're not sure if you're glad no one's in the kitchen when you storm through to collect food or not. On one hand, it saves you the trouble of conversing with anyone and means you can just climb into the mess hall vent instead of having to find a secluded one. On the other, you kind of want to tell Lalonde what an asshole her brother is, and part of you desperately wants Strider to step out of line so you have an excuse to kill him again.
That urge is so strong that the whole way to Gamzee's room, you're rehearsing variations of "hey, let's go human hunting" speeches. After all, you've been wondering what would happen if a god-tier regenerated while missing a limb. Would it poof back to its original location? Or would he grow a new one? What about his head? No, the thought of there being a spare copy of Strider's head laying around the meteor somewhere seems too obnoxious to be worth it, but you already know from the three times you've killed him while strifing that the worse the injury, the longer he stays down, and you're pretty sure dismembering him would keep him out for at least a full wake cycle, you'd just have to test and make sure the limbs wouldn't duplicate first. And hey, if they do, you could probably throw a leg off the back end of the meteor to distract the barkbeasts chasing you for a bit...
Just as you're starting to realize that this is all pretty morbid, especially when you don't even actually hate the guy so much as he just annoys the shit out of you sometimes, and that maybe you're starting to take the whole immortal opponent thing for granted, you pop out of the vents into Gamzee's makeshift respiteblock.
One look at the dumb smile on his face, not to mention the enthusiastic greeting he calls your way, and you can't find it in yourself to be angry anymore. Honestly, now you feel bad for even thinking about asking him to help you maim anybody. He's made it almost half a human year without doing so so far, and what kind of a moirail would you be if you messed that up? Not a very good one, that's for sure.
He gives you a hug, picking you up off the ground in the process - you swear he's managed to grow another two inches in the last three days - and before you can object he's sat you both down in the pile and is asking you what's going on in your motherfuckin life. You hesitate - sure, it's perfectly acceptable for you to vent at him, that's what palemates are for, but is it worth the chance that he might seek out retribution on your behalf?
His gaze is so vacant, you wonder if he's even capable of formulating such a plot anymore. Even if he is, surely annoying you isn't a bad enough offense for Dave's death to count as Just, anyway, so things can't get too bad.
You spend the next half hour ranting to him, a monologue he interrupts only to spice with sympathetic profanity as you go. You tell him all about how frustrating living with aliens is, especially ones like Strider who have no respect for anyone but themselves. You tell him how lonely you are, and how hard it is to duck off to see him, and how you've come to be glad when there's dream bubbles because it gives you company for a while. You tell him that you kind of like hanging out with Meenah, because while she's a crazy thieving bitch she's nowhere near as bad as Vriska. You debate telling him about how Equius and Nepeta are doing, but they haven't forgiven him for obvious reasons and you don't know how he'll do with being reminded of the people he's killed directly.
Finally, you tell him about last sleep cycle's conversation with Strider.
Somehow, he finds it hilarious.
Once he stops laughing, he tells you that if it came down to it, he wouldn't mind getting his snog on with you, but that's just because he thinks everyone should do whatever will make them happy, and that he'd be far far happier if spiderbitch hadn't gone and killed his wheelchair bro because he was so red for him it could have been a miracle.
You feel really sorry for him over that, and give him a big hug. Then you remember that last you checked, he had Tavros's head preserved in a tube somewhere, along with everyone else's, and you don't know whether to feel sorry for him still or just creeped out. You definitely feel worse about wanting him to help you chop up Dave now, though.
He seems to completely forget that he was crying a few minutes later, so you pull out the lunch you brought and share it with him. You ask if he wants any more books or movies, or anything else to keep him occupied, and he tells you he thinks he wouldn't mind some paint if you've got it because all this silver is getting boring. You tell him sure, because you know where Nepeta's stash is, but make a mental note to mix the colors into the least blood-like shades you can manage before bringing them to him.
Finally you have him hold the mirror for you while you cut your hair. You're a little concerned about putting a sharp object in his hands directly, but you still have him help you get the parts in the back you can't see right. He looks extremely proud of himself when he hands you back the scissors, and since you're not bleeding and don't feel the need to shave your head and start from scratch (a stupid idea because then everyone would really be able to tell how small your horns are), you feel like he deserves that pride.
You ask if he wants you to cut his hair, and he says you can try, but he expects it's too much of a tangled bunch of miracles to really cut so he's okay if you don't wanna. You try running your fingers through his hair to see how long it even is, because it's hard to tell with all those curls, and it turns out to be so tangled you have no clue.
So you ask the obvious question of when the last time he even washed his hair was, and he responds by wondering what perigee it is, which is all you needed to know. You make arrangements to stand guard by the basement bathroom for a few hours tomorrow so he'll have a shot at fixing it, and you'll even help if you have to, because sometimes being a moirail means being a substitute lusus and damn if he hasn't earned your heart all over again this week anyway.
You don't leave until he's fallen asleep, and even then you only take off because you're sure someone's going to come looking for you if you're gone too long, because you and Kanaya have that sort of thing arranged just in case Gamzee kills you and it's been hours since you last messaged anyone.
You take a wrong turn somewhere and pop out in the upstairs bathroom, but that's fine because it's not occupied and it's not too far from there to your block anyway. You open back up your husktop immediately, figuring you'll see if it's time for you to reply to any memos yet and then maybe wander around grubtube for a bit.
Surprisingly, there's a message waiting on Trollian from Kanaya. Even more surprisingly, it's neither asking to borrow a movie nor asking if you could serve as dinner tonight.
GA: I Admit That It Is A Bizarre Inquiry In Its Own Right
GA: But May I Inquire As To Why Dave Has Approached Me Regarding Proper Paledate Activities
GA: He Insisted He Had Been Directed To Seek My Guidance By You
GA: Is There Something Going On Between You Two I Should Be Aware Of?
GA: Normally I Would Not Pry Into Such Personal Territory
GA: But I Believe You Understand Why All Of Us Have Personal Investment In Your Pale Quadrant
GA: And I Suppose What I Am Trying To Get Across
GA: Is That While It Is Not A Well Known Practice
GA: Actually
GA: Forget I Said Anything
--- grimAuxilliatrix has gone idle 3 hours ago ---
You decide, right here and now, that if there's one thing you hate more than Strider when he's fucking around, it's Strider when he's actually serious.
--
The funny thing about Strider's bullshit is that, as much as it pisses you off, you also have to fully admit he has near-perfect timing. Admitting that makes you feel like an idiot, because of course he does, he's literally a Time God, but you're not above giving credit where credit is due.
By the time three days have passed, not only have you basically forgotten about Rose and Kanaya's warnings, but you've watched him execute at least three perfectly timed pranks on them. Laughing about it all leaves you in high enough spirits that you mentally forgive Dave for the idiotic discussion in the kitchen. You know better than to tell him you've forgiven him, of course. He's not the type who believes in being the bigger person when it comes to that sort of thing, so telling him would only leave you vulnerable to his bullshit all over again.
Nevermind that you were deluding yourself by ever thinking you weren't wildly exposed to Strider's overpriced manure.
It's now a good week later, and you've just returned from another wake cycle spent with Gamzee. The whole haircut thing went worse than you'd expected; you'd quickly decided it was pointless to try styling it beyond getting the brunt of his freshly-cleaned, tangled-as-ever curls out of his eyes. By now you're fully convinced he's under the influence of some kind of weird highblood growth hormones because you're sure both he and his hair have grown an inch in that week.
You're in high spirits, or at least the best ones you can manage given that you're still on a doomrock journey to certain death, but this is one of those times that you can forget that for long enough to genuinely enjoy a movie or at least a piece of earth toast.
Go figure that Strider is waiting for you in the common room, and that, despite their apparent residency in that space, neither of the flighty broads is there to spare you from your exploding horseshitometer.
KARKAT: OH FUCK NO.
You already know it's too late to escape, because Dave is staring straight at you, his arms crossed in a way that is simultaneously incredibly sassy and completely wrong coming from him. You wonder if it's too late to slash his throat open then escape, but you know from experience that when he's put this much effort into fucking with you, Dave is not above leaving a future-self lurking around the corner somewhere to prevent you from killing him.
The common room pile has formed slowly over the course of several months. It's comprised mostly of books that Rose and Kanaya have finished and deemed unimportant, broken computer components, what's left of the first couch, dismembered scalemates, and empty orange soda bottles, but there's a few crumpled cans somewhere in there too. Can Town doesn't discriminate against the disfigured, strictly speaking. But from a practical standpoint they're structurally unsound and thus unsuited to life in the growing metropolis, so it's not uncommon for them to be relocated in the dead of day when the Mayor isn't around to feel guilty about it. You know because you've been dragged along on several of these smuggling operations.
It's only the knowledge that he'd bleed all over those poor retirees that keeps you from breaking Strider's nose as you cross the room, regret written across your features in the boldest font you can furrow your eyebrows into.
KARKAT: WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?
DAVE: savin you a seat
DAVE: i thought that was obvious
KARKAT: THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEAN DIPSHIT AND YOU FUCKING KNOW IT.
DAVE: oh you mean my new look
DAVE: youre the one who said my hair was getting long like rosies
DAVE: thought i should finish the look
DAVE: kinda clashes with the god pjs though doesnt it
He's wearing one of Lalonde's decorative hair restrainers. It's some kind of pink, close enough to tyrian blood that you're instinctively uncomfortable looking at it on a human. While he's right about it looking godawful with the red of his god robes, that's the least of your concerns. The tyrian thing is higher, but right now what you're really confused about is how much of his mind he's lost that he's wearing her garments in any form when he's repeatedly stated - usually while explaining why scenes in his retarded comedy movies are supposed to be funny - how dishonorable it is for a human male to wear a female's clothes.
You've seen him do anything of the sort exactly once before. The first time he bothered washing his clothes, he emerged from the laundryblock with a chesticular harness strapped to his head and had made several references to being some famous earth rodent. The rouse had been cut short when he'd been informed that the harness belonged not to his sister, as he had assumed, but Kanaya. Lalonde had later explained to you that in addition to a fear of being chainsawed in half, Strider had likely overreacted out of fear he might catch an earth disease known as cooties.
There is only one force that you know of strong enough to counteract both Strider's fear of being feminine and of catching cooties: irony.
KARKAT: WHY THE EVERLOVING FUCK ARE YOU WEARING ONE OF LALONDE'S DECORATIVE HAIR RESTRAINERS, DAVE.
DAVE: whoa chill
DAVE: cant a guy want to look his best for hanging with his best bro
KARKAT: WHATEVER THE HELL KIND OF BULGESUCKING BULLSHIT IS ABOUT TO SPEW FROM YOUR MOUTH, I JUST WANT TO BE ABUNDANTLY CLEAR, RIGHT HERE AND NOW, FOR THE BENEFIT OF YOU AND ANYONE ELSE WHO MIGHT BE WITHIN EARSHOT, THAT MY HATRED FOR YOU IS ENTIRELY FUCKING PLATONIC.
KARKAT: ARE WE FUCKING CLEAR.
DAVE: good
DAVE: platonic is what i was going for
DAVE: you know me platonic is where i get my groove on
DAVE: my bro groove
KARKAT: I'M LEAVING.
DAVE: and here i took the hella plasticy side of the pile just so youd have the more comfortable spot
DAVE: that hurts
DAVE: you cut me deep karkat
DAVE: as long as youre still up can you grab me a bandaid
KARKAT: IF YOU DON'T FUCKING SHUT UP I'LL ALCHEMIZE YOU A WHOLE CASE OF THEM. BECAUSE YOU'LL FUCKING NEED THEM. BECAUSE I CAN FUCKING GUARANTEE THAT KILLING YOU OVER THIS WOULD QUALIFY AS JUST AND THE LAST THING I NEED IS YOUR GHOST HASSLING ME IN EVERY DREAM BUBBLE WE RUN INTO.
DAVE: you imply i wouldnt have better things to do with my afterlife than haunt you
KARKAT: WELL NEVER FUCKING MIND THEN. I'D NEVER REALIZED THERE WAS SUCH AN OBVIOUS SOLUTION TO MY SUFFERING.
DAVE: whoa wait up
DAVE: that was a joke
DAVE: i would totally haunt the shit out of you
DAVE: you would never be able to sleep again without me showing up and being all hey bro remember that time you killed me because i was trying to actually be nice to you yeah well im gonna ghost piss in your sleep slime now
DAVE: and youd never know if i only pissed in it in the dream or for real so youd keep having to alchemize more just in case
DAVE: itll be a tragic waste
DAVE: think of all the romcoms you could have used that grist on instead
KARKAT: YEAH YOU'RE RIGHT. AT LEAST WHEN YOU'RE CORPOREAL I GET SOME ADVANCED WARNING OF YOUR SHITTY BEHAVIOR.
DAVE: glad we can agree
DAVE: now sit down
DAVE: im trying to be all culturally sensitive and shit dont ruin it right when i was going to let you teach me lessons about your clearly superior species vantas
KARKAT: I THINK YOU MEAN SEN-
KARKAT: WAIT.
KARKAT: WHAT?
DAVE: clearly my ails all stem from a lack of gossip jams
KARKAT: FEELINGS JAMS.
DAVE: yes those
DAVE: see i need lessons so bad i dont even know what theyre called
DAVE: its because only the females of my species get to learn about them in middle school
DAVE: males have to wait until their first aa meeting in their 20s
DAVE: or theyre ordered by divorce court
You stare at him in utter disbelief.
There's no way this isn't a trap. That's been obvious since you entered the room. There is no way in hell Strider would ask for your help with even an ounce of sincerity. Even if that fact were to suddenly change, he wouldn't pick the single most public place on the entire meteor to ask you for advice, not even if his warped alien understanding of quadrants had somehow lead him to believe the situation demanded it.
And yet, driven by some combination of morbid curiosity, self-hatred, and senseless hope that some member of the human species might be starting to take interest in something about trolls besides the finer points of female anatomy, you're inclined to sit down beside him.
As soon as your butt hits disfigured aluminum and murdered plush, you're already regretting even leaving your block tonight, because Strider's legs are crossed and he's produced a claw grooming implement from somewhere and is feigning using it on his laughably flimsy excuses for claws.
DAVE: so
DAVE: did you hear
DAVE: what courtney said about sally
KARKAT: WHAT?
You realize your mistake too late, but you're already caught up gaping absently at his unbelievably stupid face. Whatever mild paranoia you had that this was going to go horribly wrong by way of Gamzee catching sight of you and thinking you're cheating on him, as opposed to being subject to blatant harassment, has been flung from you so fast that you wouldn't be surprised if it breaks some sort of physics law on its way out of the meteor, gets launched right through the fabric of paradox space, and gives Egbert a guilt trip in whatever universe he's in instead.
You'd be okay with that option, except it's a guilt trip that Dave should be experiencing right now, were he physically capable of feeling remorse.
Actually who are you kidding, you realized your mistake about fifteen minutes after you agreed to stick this fucking journey out instead of bailing with Aradia and Sollux.
DAVE: well did you?
KARKAT: STRIDER.
DAVE: because sarah told me that lizzie told her that courtney said that sally said that she thinks timmy is cute
KARKAT: STRIDER.
DAVE: but kirsten told me that allison told her that heather heard timmy telling matt that hes the one who put the thumbtacks in sallys shoes last semester
KARKAT: DAVE.
DAVE: and honestly im still pretty upset about that whole thing
KARKAT: *DAVE*.
DAVE: not because sally went home crying
KARKAT: GOD DAMN'T DAVE.
DAVE: i mean that did suck especially because it was a friday and she usually shares her pbjs with me on fridays if i give her some of my grapes
KARKAT: DAVE
DAVE: but im more mad because they wont let us have thumbtacks anymore
KARKAT: WHAT
DAVE: and the corkboard is like totes boring now
KARKAT: THE
DAVE: without all of my totally cool drawings on it from show and tell
KARKAT: BULGEMUNCHING
DAVE: but i kind of figured that since you and matt are like totally bffs
KARKAT: ASSLICKING
DAVE: you could maybe ask him if what kirsten said that allison said that heather heard was true
KARKAT: FUCK DO
DAVE: ooooooooooo you said a bad word
KARKAT: YOU THI-
KARKAT: WHAT?
DAVE: you cursed
DAVE: im gonna tell
KARKAT: I'VE BEEN CURSING AT YOU FOR ABOUT TEN OF YOUR EARTH MINUTES YOU LEADSPONGED PIECE OF SHIT.
DAVE: oooooo you cursed again
KARKAT: NO FUCKING SHIT. THE FACT THAT THERE ARE WORDS LEAVING MY TALK BLASTER THAT *AREN'T* X RATED SLANDER OF YOUR INTELLIGENCE IS A MIRACLE THAT GAMZEE HIMSELF WOULD BE IN AWE OF. ONE THAT'S OCCURRING ONLY BECAUSE YOU HAVE REACHED SUCH A LOFTY ZENITH OF UTTER RETARDATION THAT I AM ACTUALLY OUT OF FUCKING CUSS WORDS AND CREATIVE COMBINATIONS OF REPRODUCTIVE ANATOMY TO PROPERLY CONVEY MY FUCKING DISGUST.
KARKAT: YOU ARE AN AFFRONT TO INTELLIGENT SPECIES EVERYWHERE. A LITERAL WASTE OF BRAIN MATTER.
DAVE: miss lalonde karkats making fun of me!
He leans back in the pile, shouting toward the door without making any real attempt to get up or actually alert his sister of the situation.
DAVE: also he said a bad word!
You can hear the slight crackle in his voice that always precedes a breakdown into laughter. Normally it's the signal for Terezi to high five him, but right now she's not around to do so.
Which also means she's not around to save him, either, not that she's ever tried going ashen on the two of you before. Besides, you've had several perigees by now to adjust to the fact that Strider's bullshit is exactly that - pure idiotic moobeast manure - and not the juvenile excuse for black flirting you'd take it as from anyone of your own species.
You get to your feet, reaching for your strife deck in the process. For the few seconds that your throat is busy with growling instead of speaking, you realize that could be your revenge option. If Strider is going to sit here deliberately harassing you, you might as well harass him right back, and you're just angry enough that pinning his neck to the pile with your sickle and kissing him until his lips bleed sounds like the perfect way to get back at him.
But even as the growl turns into an outright snarl, you know somewhere in the back of your mind that none of this is anything but a game to Strider, and that if there's one course of action which would guarantee him avoiding you entirely for the remainder of your journey, that's it.
Your sickle winds up at his throat anyway.
He hasn't had a chance to turn back around from his tattling bullshit, so your blade pins him sideways against one of the slightly charred couch cushions. His hands are up in a motion of surrender instantly, and even if you can't see his eyes behind the mirrored lenses of his sunglasses, you know he's staring up your arm in a panic because it actually takes him a second to start talking again.
DAVE: whoa
DAVE: what the fuck
DAVE: they banned pushpins so im like 95% sure weapons aint allowed in class
DAVE: you should probly put that away before miss lalonde gets back
KARKAT: SHUT YOUR CHUTESTUFFING MOUTH YOU SHITBRAIN.
DAVE: ok geez ill stop
DAVE: whats gotten into you lately karkles
DAVE: cant you take a joke
KARKAT: I KNOW THIS IS GOING TO COME AS A BIG FUCKING SURPRISE TO YOUR FRAGILE HUMAN THINKPAN, BUT THERE IS NOTHING HUMOROUS ABOUT ANY OF YOUR SHITTY EXCUSES FOR JOKES. NOT EVEN IRONICALLY OR BY WHATEVER BACKWARD IDEAS OF HILARITY YOU THINK YOU HOLD SUPREME MASTERY OF. I WOULD GO SO FAR AS TO SAY THAT IF I HAD TO CHOOSE BETWEEN LISTENING TO YOUR OBNOXIOUS RAMBLING OFFEND MY ARTICULAR CLOTS FOR FIVE MORE SECONDS AND VOLUNTARILY SLICING MY BULGE OFF TO THROW INTO THE GREEN SUN AND WATCH IT BURN UP BEFORE DYING IN ITS FLAMES MYSELF, I WOULD CONSIDER THE SECOND OPTION TO BE FAR MORE MERCIFUL AND HONORABLE.
KARKAT: YOU'RE BORED. I GET IT. WE'RE ALL FUCKING BORED. THERE'S NOTHING TO DO OUT HERE BUT BE BORED AND PREPARE FOR OUR INEVITABLE, HORRENDOUSLY PAINFUL, MEANINGLESS DEATHS.
KARKAT: BUT MOST OF US MANAGE TO SOLVE THE ISSUE LIKE WE'RE OVER TWO SWEEPS, INSTEAD OF GOING OUT OF OUR WAY TO BE A VERBAL SHOE UP THE ASS OF EVERY OTHER SENTIENT BEING IN THE OUTER RING. WHICH IS, I SHOULD NOTE, A TIME-WASTING TECHNIQUE YOU HAVE SINGLEHANDEDLY INVENTED, REFINED, AND MASTERED, BECAUSE NO ONE ELSE IS ENOUGH OF AN ASSHOLE TO DEVOTE THEMSELVES SO FULLY TO THE ART.
You press forward slightly, digging your sickle into his windhole until he makes a strained noise of objection and red starts to leak from around the cutting edge. You aren't exactly sure how awful the crime needs to be before a death counts as just, and you haven't been too keen to find out, but you're definitely hoping he'll give you an excuse to maim him any second now.
For the first time you can remember, Dave Strider is dead silent without being literally dead, and it's at the end of your weapon. You half expect it to just be a ruse, meant to get your guard down long enough for him to get his sword out or for another him to come up behind you and grab you, a possibility you refuse to avert your eyes to watch for. Right now your vision is reserved for casting the coolkid a death glare, challenging him to say even one word, and he isn't biting.
Actually, with his hair pushed back so absurdly, you can see his eyebrows floating dangerously high above his shades, clearly displaying the alarm his mouth is refusing to betray.
KARKAT: I KNOW EVERYTHING'S A FUCKING JOKE TO YOU. AND IT'S NOT LIKE I DON'T GIVE YOU PLENTY OF SHIT ABOUT HUMAN THINGS I THINK ARE RETARDED. BUT I DRAW THE LINE AT YOUR RELATIONSHIPS. I RESPECT WHAT YOU HAVE WITH TEREZI AND WITH LALONDE.
You see his mouth twitch as he instinctively tries to contradict his moirallegiance with Rose, and fine, they're siblings, whatever, you've dealt with the technicalities a million times and you're not about to let him derail this over that again. Your other sickle appears in your other hand and you make sure to wave it in a spot that he can see clearly.
KARKAT: IF YOU HAVE EVEN HALF AN OUNCE OF MATURITY, WHICH WE'RE ALL WELL AWARE YOU FUCKING DON'T, BUT I'M SURE YOURE CAPABLE OF IMAGINING UP SOME IN BETWEEN SHITTY WORDSLAMS, YOU'LL SHOW SOME FUCKING RESPECT IN RETURN. MAYBE EVEN DO SOME HALF-ASSED RESEARCH IN BETWEEN DRAWING YOUR MORONIC COMICS AND PLAYING WITH YOUR BULGE. IT'S NOT LIKE YOU DON'T HAVE THE ENTIRE ALTERNIAN INTERNET AND NEARLY TWO DOZEN DEAD TROLLS BOTH WITHIN EASY ACCESS SHOULD ANY QUESTIONS MANAGE TO SPAWN IN THE DANK LOADGAPER YOU TRY TO PASS AS A BRAIN.
KARKAT: JUST DON'T COME CRAWLING TO ME WHEN TEREZI GETS A MOIRAIL SOMEDAY AND YOU STILL HAVE YOUR HEAD CRAMMED TOO FAR UP YOUR OWN NOOK TO UNDERSTAND. THAT FREIGHTER HAS OFFICIALLY LEFT THE SPACEPORT.
You step back, teeth still bared and clacking at him, then head for the door, not quite daring to lower your weapon until you're well out of each others' reach. His gaze follows you, and while his hands slowly come down, neither of them reach for the red streak across his neck.
He's still not talking. You're sure he'll have one hell of a comeback for you tomorrow and that you'll regret all of this then, but that's future you's problem, and for right now, you're actually winning.
Which means you might as well throw in one last dig.
KARKAT: AND SERIOUSLY, CUT YOUR FUCKING HAIR, OR I'LL TELL TEREZI TO DO IT FOR YOU, AND WE CAN ALL GUESS HOW THAT'LL END.
--
When you next see him, it’s at the breakfast table two wake cycles later, where he’s blatantly ignoring your presence as Lalonde carefully snips away at his bangs.