Your name is Sollux Captor and you don't know why the fuck you're here.
Actually, you do. You're here because of her. That demon in disguise who tricked you into to showing up to this shithole excuse for a party.
Not that Feferi is bad. In fact, you think she's pretty amazing. You just hate that she guilt-tripped you into coming with her to this dance-thing. The music is shitty and it's just a bunch of assholes grinding on each other.
Though, sadly, you'd be out there too if you had a partner that wasn't just a sweaty, horny stranger. But it's better to tell yourself that you'd never do such a thing with anyone.
Yeah, keep telling yourself that.
Your name is Karkat Vantas and you're about to murder someone.
That someone being, specifically, one John Egbert. One John fucking Egbert who is currently to the side of the dancing sex mob with Jade dancing like the love-child of a retarded monkey and the whitest guy on the face of the earth.
Though you can't dance much better.
But at least you don't dance in public.
You'd rather be anywhere else, but your former-palhancho-now-next-fucking-victim Sollux guilt-tripped you into coming so he wouldn't be alone. Speaking of fucking Satan's doppelganger, you finally find him.
"Thup, KK." He greets with a faint nod.
"Fuck you, asshole."
Your name is Tavros Nitram and you are the most uncomfortable person in the room.
You're not sure what to do here. Being in the middle of the "dance" seems far too awkward. Sitting at the bar and drinking apple juice is just as awkward. Especially with the blonde woman behind the counter trying to get you to drink something "a little stronger" and being far too drunk herself.
Your prosthetic legs creak quietly but the sound is drowned out by the loud music coming from the huge speakers set up by the DJ's table. From here, you can see over the dancing crowd and wave to the boy currently working the music, Dave. He nods at you and then jerks his head to the right. Out of habit, you look in that direction. It's one of the weirder things you've seen.
Because you can't honestly say you've ever seen someone with clown makeup on lying on a bar with their head hanging off the edge staring at the ceiling fan like it was God.