Your name is Karkat and you are pretty much the most irritable motherfucker on the planet.
Everyone's obnoxious.
Everyone is too damn happy all the time.
And whenever, and you mean WHENEVER, relationship drama of any sort happens: you are the first to know and the only one to deal with it.
While it is hilarious as horseshit to deal with and watch, it gets a bit pathetic at points.
"I..uh... She's really nice when.. you get to know her... but she sort of... changes the tv channel a lot and... makes me carry her in my wheel chair to bed... and... I'm, not sure if a movie is too much... at this point in our, uhh, relationship... but...er..."
Seriously.
If this is the world's idea of sexual tension, you're just going to pack your shit up and get out of here because seriously.
What the actual fish-flinging fuck.
Your name is Karkat, and you're at a bar drinking something to just calm you down.
One of the good things about you being drunk: you're calm enough to think.
The music that is playing is awful.
The cackling drunk girls on the dance floor are awful.
Everything's awful.
You know, you never knew how pissed off you could be when your best friend just got dumped by his boyfriend of four years.
And you had to watch it.
Even though it was a week ago, it was still fresh in your mind.
"Why John? What did I motherfuckin' DO?" Gamzee had said, crying.
"Please stop crying, Gamzee! I just, I... I like someone else, now!" He said.
Gamzee ran to the car cryingn harder.
"Who is it. Who the fuck are you breaking my best friend's heart for." You demanded, glaring hard.
"H-her name is Rose-"
"When'd you meet her." You interrupted.
"F-five years ago..." he said.
"How long have you liked her."
"W-well..."
"HOW LONG." You demanded.
"S-since I m-met her..."
You slapped him upside the head.
"You, are a moron. Just go inside and never talk to me OR Gmazee ever again."
"B-but I didn't dump YOU! I dumped Gamzee!" He defended.
"Like that makes it a WHOLE lot better. You didn't ruin my life, you ruined his. Oh wait. I CARE about my friends. Apparently the same can't be said for you. Good-bye, John."
He growled and slammed the door.
You heard the Nic Cage movie play before you even left the driveway, a very sad juggalo crying on your shoulder.
You took another sip of your beer.
It tasted awful, but you couldn't help it.
The alcohol was enough.
Suddenly, you feel breath on your neck.
"Yo baby momma, lemme whisper in your ear-" someone rasps, breath hitting your ear as he says it.
You smack whoever it is upside the head.
"What the FUCK? Who are you and what gave you the almighty right to breathe on me?" You ask, as he's getting up from the floor.
"Not much. Just thought I'd try some new tactic for picking up hot babes at the bar." He says, getting up and repositioning his sunglasses on his face.
What the... it was plenty dark in here enough, why was he wearing sunglasses?
Wait... babe?
"I'm not a girl you know-" You start.
"I know." He states flatly, smirking.
"Th-then why are you calling me babe?"
"Thought it'd fit, pretty eyes like yours, nice figure."
"..." You were at a loss for words.
A guy wearing sunglasses just called you pretty.
Now that he was at a distance, you could really take in his figure as well.
Most of his face was hidden, but his nose was small, but not button-like. It was short and... oddly cute.
His hair was platinum blonde, and by the looks of it...natural.
He was tall and lanky, but through his shirt, you could see he had some muscle.
...You weren't even going to go lower than his torso.
He had freckles sprinkled across his cheeks (or rather as much of his cheeks you could see, those damn shades.)
And his lips...
Oh god those LIPS.
They were red and full... oddly so for a man his age and body type.
You felt like you could just kiss them and OH GOD NO YOU'RE DRUNK STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT.
You actually slapped yourself, and he nearly chuckled.
"Don't bother. People try to slap sense into themselves after they check me out like that, and it don't help much." He says, smirking.
He sits down next to you (much to your reluctance, having said 'Shove off I'm drinking here' or something related more than thrice) and buys you another round.
"So. Who are you. I think I should figure this out if you're going to buy me a drink." You say, scowling with your voice but smirking with your face.
"Well. I'm a DJ who is up here in Cali after leaving a shithole apartment in Texas. Name's Dave. Dave motherfuckin' Strider if you will." He says, taking a swig of his newfound beer.
"And wha-bout you?" He asked, sipping contently.
You sigh deeply, taking a swig of your own beer before you start.
"Well. My name is Karkat Vantas. I'm from Florida. I don't have and PhDs or some shit like that but I'm basically a bonefied therapist for my friends." You said.
Dave motherfuckin' Strider laughed at that, nodding.
"Been there. I'm one of the few who can actually keep it cool. My sister went and wooed some dork, but she's actually a lesbian. The dork hooked up with a clown guy whie liking my sister, and dumped him like a week ago. Stupid idiot. My other friend who happens to be said dork's sister, and she tends to act more like a pet than a person."
You nodded before all of the information ran through your head again.
"Wait... your sister who's actually a lesbian wouldn't happen to be named Rose, would she?"
He stops and looks at you.
"Have we met?" he asks in what has to be the most Texan way.
"No! I would have remembered a weird Texa-hipster-dick-moron like you, but the dork you mentioned who was wooed by a girl named Rose... well... the poor clown guy is my best friend. Dumped by an idiot dork who was my friend John."
He keeps his cool, but from his breathing you can tell he is mentally flipping his shit.
"Well. Okay. What do you mean 'was'? You didn;t kill him, did you?" He asked, a little faster than he might have intended.
"No! Fuck, no. I wouldn't have wasted my precious energy on a lost cause like that guy. Said he wasn't in to guys after he dated Gamzee for four years... what a load of crap." You grumble, taking a sip of the beer which is starting to grow on you. It's not too thin, but it's got flavor to it... you like it... maybe.
"Hey. Get up shorty. Let's go dance." He says.
"Who gave you the permission to call me shorty?" You shout indignantly.
"I did. I gave myself permission like a fat guy gives himself permission to eat 12 pizzas." He says.
That was... creative.
"Sure... fi-iiiiiii!" You start, yelping when he grabs your arm, giving you only half a second to put down the bottle and get up comfortably.
He drags you to the dance floor, when suddenly a song you have never heard before starts playing.
It's got this weird mix of music you never listen to, but it works in just the right way that it is both dance-able but you could listen to it outside the club if you wanted.
"This is one of my mine. I asked the club DJ to play it for me." He shouts over the music.
"This is yours? Huh! I thought it sounded half-way decent, but now that you mention it, it sucks girraffe dick and there's a slight tick in it that makes it sound like the record's scratched." You shout back, smirking.
"Uhunh. Glad you like it shorty." He replies, giving a genuine laugh when you flip him off.
You spend the rest of the night off-hand insulting him before you can't cohernetly do anything.
The last thing you remember before passing out is him picking you up in his arms bridal style and you calling him a prince taking you away from such dark places.
You don'treally have control over what you say when you're dunk and tired.
You wake up when the sun hits your face.
The first thing you think: your bed is really comfortable this morning.
The first thing you notice after thinking this: this is not your bed.
You sit up really quickly and look at the clock, finding out that it is 11:46.
You walk around the place to see whose house it is tha you woke up in and you see a man on the couch, with a red and white shirt, black-skinny jeans, and mussed up platinum blonde hair.
First thing you find out here: Dave motherfuckin' Strider has the BEST ASS YOU HAVE EVER SEEN.
He starts to stir and he sits up, rubbing his face.
He apparently doesn't wear his sunglasses to sleep, because now you can see that he has nice but subtle cheek-bones, and-
Wait a moment... are his eyes RED?
They are... oh wow but they WORK on him.
They are sparkly and look like rubies that were just made to fit his face perfectly.
He apparently also doesn't sleep on a couch much, because when he stands up, he cracks his back and it is so loud you're almost afraid that he broke something.
He looks at you and smiles, cheek-bones helping with that fantastically.
"Mornin'." He drawls, and woah boy if that isn't the thickest accent you've ever heard.
"Good morning Mr. Southern Accent." you say.
"And good morning to you Mr. Pale-Skinned Shorty."
Oh for fuck's sake.
Wait a minute...
"W-we didn't...do... anything...last night... did we?" You ask shakily.
He chuckles, shaking his head.
"Now why in the name of sanity would we have done something... when I'm waking up fully clothed on my couch." he says.
Truthfully: he's got a good point.
"Yeah, well you could be insane and lying when you say in the name of sanity. Fuck... for all I know you have this weird kink of couching yourself after having sex and putting on clothes again. I don't know that." You say.
He smirks before leaning against the counter next to you.
"Won't your mom be worried about her little son bein' gone all night?" He asks sarcastically.
"Oh hilarious. No, my roomate wouldn't give a shit because he probably did something similar to what I did. Only thing is he probably had sex. Whatever. You're right. I should go." You say.
You actually did mean that. The lispy bastartd probably went and had sex after his gig. He always does that. It's a little worrying.
" 'S cool. Hey, shorty. 'Fore you go, here's my number." He said, handing you a 'business' card that had a rainbow and a sun with a smile on it.
"Just call that if you want to hang out again." He said, winking.
You rolled your eyes and sneered.
"Uhunh. Well. I have to go. AND STOP CALLING ME SHORTY." You say, before waving him off, gathering your shit, and leaving.
On the way down the road to your apartment (Dave's being not too far from yours, surprisingly) you whipped out your phone.
"Hey KK. What'th up?"
"We need to talk when I get home. I met this guy..."
