Neckties and the Art of Getting Kicked Out of Galleries

By: Theta Waves

Author's Note: As a disclaimer, I do not own Homestuck in any way. It is completely a work of Andrew Hussie, and this is a made-up work of fan fiction. Also, I'd be glad to know if you have any suggestions for the story, or if you even have a bit of critique you'd like to share. Feel free to post a review, or send me a Private Message if that's easier for you

Chapter 1

Whoever invented the necktie is doubtlessly a man of incredible evils, and deserves no less than to be paying for this grave mistake by way of eternal suffering in the deepest vaults of Hell.

These were the kinds of thoughts that boiled about in the think-pan of Karkat Vantas at his place of work

Perhaps, he further brooded, I should dedicate my life to crime and evil if only to meet the gent' in Hell just to have the opportunity to use his human blood-pusher in a softball game with Ted Bundy.

His eyes snapped wide and he dropped the pen he'd been twirling absent-mindedly. Ted bundy had no place in his daydreams, and he should never pursue an avenue of thought involving anyone, really, of the Bundy persuasion.

After clearing the self-induced shock from his face, he lifted his chin from the elbow, his own, that he had been resting on, picked up the pen he had dropped onto his laptop, squinted at it in a decidedly ornery fashion and placed it between his teeth. Contrary to most other aspects of his living conditions, Karkat kept his laptop in very good shape. That much could be deduced by the state of his desk. Directly in front of him was a well-kept slab of hardware and wiring. On either side of it, however, there peacefully coexisted sheafs of paper, wrappers from various foods, pencils broken in fits of rage, and work documents anointed with various doodles conceived during countless bouts of boredom.

It didn't matter much, he never really got reprimanded for it. He was a paper-pusher, and the only reason he had a job at this particular magazine publishing firm was because his dear friend Kanaya knew the chief editor, and that, combined with otherwise inexplicable pull with the whole system, got you a job that demanded little, and certainly paid the rent. You weren't expected to do much work. You gathered that they perhaps feared you due to the air of hostility that orbits you. Converations stopped when you passed by, your desk found itself avoided, and your higher-ups sought to do little but pacify you with busy-work, and interact with you as little as possible. To be honest, that suited you fine. It meant you had to put in an average of two productive work hours in a day, and you were bothered vary little by your peers in the office. Not that it mattered to you; the people working here were vastly boring, self-centered, and dense. But Hell if it didn't get boring.

Besides boredom, though, today was dragging along slower than it normally would, because you secretly can't wait for tonight. Tonight, like many a night before, you would be hanging out at Rose's apartment with your mutual friends. After the game, you all stayed close. After such an intense and emotional experience, you all wordlessly decided that not even in a world as crazy would drive you apart. In fact, all of your detachment from society due to years away served only to bring you all closer. You guys did everything together though, and little was held secret, and oddly enough, Lalonde's apartment became a common meeting place for your dysfunctional group. Technically it was Rose and John's apartment, but that goober will never strike you as someone who can fill out any of the paperwork required to live in an apartment.

You guys never cease to be together, so why do you never cease to be excited? /you pretend in your mind that it isn't because of Harley. The facial expressions of a petulant teenaged asshole and shy lover-boy compete for dominance and call it a draw at giving you a screwy scowl and a blush.

It's not your fault that those blazing emerald eyes make the world fall away around you. In fact, the first glance burned them into your mind; hanging vaguely in front of memories, and often there in the dark of night when you call for them. Not your fault that when she puts on that adorable as all Hell half-lidded grin you become putty in her hands. Not at all. You're glad to be going because your friends mean the world to you, and seeing them is like Rapture and wriggling day and human Christmas rolled up into a single disgusting human enchilada sleeping bag like a happy goddamn family.

Just fifteen more minutes until you stuff your possessions into your messenger bag, stop off at the apartment you share with Sollux and head off to Rose's

You might be pressed for time, so your glad you won't have to change; a white button-up with rolled up sleeves and gray slacks works fine, and, you hope, will be enough to impress Jade. You wish Sollux were going, but he still happened to be nocturnal and worked night shifts. Having Sollux there for back-up and, more likely, emotional support would be welcome, but you guess you'll just have to fly solo this time.

Should I bring flowers?

No, idiot, you chide yourself with a slap on the forehead for good measure, who goes to a group social gathering with flowers with an as-of-yet platonic friend? Are you joking?

You decide it's best to just show up. Act casual. Be all sorts of smooth.

You follow this preparatory train fo thought, and before you know it, the assholes around you are packing up.

Quittin' time already?