I'm not expecting this to get anyone interested, much less a review. This is more or less an idea has been plaguing me since watched the movie a couple days ago. If anyone reads this feel compelled to review this shit go ahead, yo.
~.~.~.~
= ÷ = Prolouge = ÷ =
Dave was never the best example of a responsible person -really, that was more of Roses' district- nor was he the model best friend; when it came to a point he would probably sell out Egbert. Then maybe rescue him later. There was also the one time he slammed Karkat against a table, and then there was the time he drew a dick with a marker of John's shoulder; didn't come out for weeks. He may also have stolen Karkat's girl; Terezi was hot no question. And being the first one to light said short males' fuse didn't score him any brownie points either. He also liked to bitch a lot and lay around his two best friends houses in nothing but boxers, until they realised he was there. But this had to take the cake...
"How the fucking hell did you get an arrow shot through the dudes ass!" Screamed the brunette as he walked up to the blonde. The Strider boy looked at him expression never changing before bluntly saying, "Rose said she was taking archery."
Be woman struck speechless by cool-kid.
Your name is Karkat; and you pray to every fucking deity created since the very begging of time your dad isn't going to screw you over. Your jaw goes slack as the nonchalant hipster before you. Covered in ash, foam and smelling like chlorine he sits on one of the chairs. You realise he's uncomfortable given he's still in wet jeans, "What the hell are we going to tell his dad shit stain." You cringe at your words. The soft tone is unpleasant, it's an uncomfortable one that you never thought would fit your voice. Hiking up the torn wedding gown, you sit beside the Strider. He looks at you through the heart shaped eyes wear while leaning back against the wall. The large gold chain around his neck is begging to turn silver as he dripps dry; its a miracle that for once the red eyed knight is quiet. Your take of the neon pink gloves and place your head between your knees, you can hear your bones snap into place and muscles moan in relief due to this action. You let out a groan, it scratches at you hoarse throat and makes you sick to you stomach. The sound of dub-step still pounds your ear drums, and the taste of alcohol and burning sugar tickles your nose. Looking at the clock on your phone, you can make out 04:13 on the cracked screen. Dave once again reply's, "How the hell did we fuck up this much in twelve hours?"