Hey yall. This is my first story if you haven't noticed yet. Constructive criticism is acceptable and, actually preferable so I can make reading this story more enjoyable for you guys in later chapters. This might turn into a rated M story but if you don't want that, let me know. I don't own Homestuck (single tear slides down cheek), Andrew Hussie that SOB owns it. Enjoy.

A chill settles in on the park. The once deep green of the leaves have been transformed into the most vibrant hues of red and gold. A breeze flows through the trees picking up hordes of leaves at a time off the gnarled branches of the nearby trees. The cold bites at your face, but you don't mind. This is your favorite place to go when you want to be inspired. It's so still. So quiet. The usual chaos of the city doesn't reach here. The only symphony this place plays is the calm rustle of the redwoods and the chirping of birds. You and maybe 2 or 3 individuals are the only constant visitors.

A maple leaf falling onto your sketch pad brings you out of your thoughts. You stare down at your work in progress. A girl with long black hair poses in a form-fitting dress, the train falling to the ground in long shimmering black waves. She is also wearing a pair of long black gloves and, for some odd reason, a rifle. You felt that it was needed somehow. It adds the sense of danger about her, while still holding an air of mystery to her. You called it "The Mysterious Marksman". You've never been great with titles. Oh well. You sign it with your signature, JE, and neatly put your pad into your backpack, or as neatly as you can with all this clutter stuffed in there. You're pretty sure that there's a miniature Mt. Everest of pencils at the bottom. You pull out your phone.

You stare at it for a good minute or two before it starts to process. It's 3:45. OH SHIT! Yeah you need to get going. You don't want to be late! That could really hurt your chances at getting into your dream school. You are a striving artist. You've loved it ever since you were a kid. It kept you sane through the days in middle school where people liked to bully you. They made fun of you for it, but now is your chance to show the world what you're made of.

You sprint. You sprint as hard as you can. Through the streets, up numerous hills, and across the city. Once you got to the center, you were ready to all but pass out right there at the front door. NO! FIGHT IT! YOU CAME SO FAR. It was hell trying to get to where you are now. You shoo away the nausea now clouding your mind and push through the door. As you walk/stumble toward the desk, half the room stops what they're doing and looks at you funny. You can feel the beads of sweat crawling down your face and staining the color of your bright blue sweater and your unruly hair sticking to your forehead, the weight of your Ghost Busters themed backpack leaves the threat of tipping you over. But you keep walking. Now at the front desk, the attendant looks up at you with a face of disgust adorning her features. I don't blame you.

"What do you want?" her voice sounds like a vulture's, raspy and horse.

"I'm here to- huff…. huff- submit my- huff huh- work." Your vision is starting to swim. Thank God you don't have to look at her anymore. Unfortunately, you are very unhappily reminded of her presence via static noise.

"UUUUggggHHHHH, hand me your portfolio and fill this out," she shoves you a clip board with a piece of paper on it. Yep, it's official. She bothers you to no end.

"Here," you reluctantly hand her your file and begin to fil out the paper.

Name: John Egbert

Age: 21

Gender: Male

Bla Bla Bla

You hand her the now filled out paper and turn on your heel to leave, everyone still has their eyes on you. You speed out despite your intense fatigue; the crowd is incredibly uncomfortable to you.

Finally back in the park. You thought about going home but thought against it. The day is still upon us. Might as well enjoy it. A pair of birds fly around excitedly, making loopdy loops around each other. A massive amount of leaves begin to fall around you, a frenzy of reds and oranges envelopes you. You love the fall. It's one of your more favored seasons. It reminds you of home. Of Dad. You think he'd be proud of you. He'd always been proud of you.

CRASH!

Your head hurts. The sky is where the ground should be at the moment. Propping yourself up, you glance at what or who bumped into you. There crouched before you is a man, his bright blond hair covering his eyes, he was wearing a bright red hoodie with a dark red gear on it and skinny jeans that were ripped at the knees. He seemed to be frantically searching the ground for something. You look around the general area and spot a cane, one that was used for blind people. A pang of guilt passes over you. Shit. You walk over and pick up the cane and help up the man you ran into.

"Sir, are you ok? I'm soooo sorry I ran into you I should've been paying more attention I'm such a klutz! I'm so sorry again an-"You're interrupted by him holding up his hand.

"Dude, chill out. It's fine. I should've been watching where I was goin', ironic being blind and all." He chuckles. You don't know why but you find it adorable. It suits him well. "Now where's my cane?" He has a southern drawl to his speaking. To you, it sounds like honey, slow and sweet. But then, you remember the pole you are now holding and frantically give it back to him. In your jitteriness, you accidentally knock off his shades. His head instantly lowers. But when he raises his head back up, you were not prepared to see his eyes. His irises put polished rubies to shame. The intensity of the fire in his eyes was unreal. Deep red eyes met sapphire blue. Except they didn't. Those eyes looked into his very being, they saw into his deepest thought and feelings. You're pretty sure you could feel the radiance and heat emitting from them. They were hypnotic. You couldn't look away.

You are reminded that, there is a person attached to those eyes and pick up the shades. You place them in his hands. They are surprisingly soft. And warm. It feels like you've known this man for ages. It felt so comforting.

"Thanks, man. Oh yeah! I didn't catch your name," Come on brain! This is the part where you tell him your name. Don't become a dumbfuck now. Thankfully, your head got the memo and managed to reply without too much stupidness.

"John. John Egbert, and you are…" The mystery man slips on his shades again and positions his cane.

"Dave Strider. Nice to meet ya'".