((AU in which Kanaya and Rose meet not in Sburb, but in a rather trashy nightclub. I'm goin' with about 17))
1)
Your name is Kanaya Maryam, and currently you're in a rather unpleasant situation. Your fellow trolls decided that it was time to "let loose," whatever that means. You have now found yourself easing your way, with trepidation, across a room packed with rocking bodies, the pulsating beat of a bass, and these pesky contraptions known as "strobe lights". You are in a nightclub. The best, from what Vriska had told you, or rather, boasted, along with several accounts of all the "craaaaaaaazy" things that occurred there. Your hands find your way to your skirt, irritably tugging it back into place after some rude dancer had trampled them hem under his heavy steps. You don't fully understand how something like this could be considered fun, however you have no way of returning home - the holder of the car-keys is currently off fluttering her lashes eight times at any unfortunate passerby to get caught in her web.
As you stand there, gaping at the distasteful scene, you feel a pounding begin at the base of your skull. After that pulsing decided to coordinate itself along with the thudding of the bass, you decide that it may be best to find a place to sit, out of sight, until Vriska selects her prey and you can get going. Parties were never your thing. The crowded atmospheres, all the noise…the alcohol, bah. You always found it easiest to relax with one or two people and have a stimulation of the mind and a relaxation of the nerves, rather than the opposite.
Suddenly, from the corner, you spot salvation. An empty booth, partially hidden in darkness (something you normally would loathe), beckons you from its secluded corner. You hurry over, casting apprehensive glances from side to side as you do so. You sit down not a moment too soon – a drunken couple stomps their way across the floor right where you had been standing. They probably wouldn't have even stopped if you'd still been standing there, and you have no intentions of participating in a three-man tango tonight. Your nose wrinkles. Even from where the two-some is sashaying sloppily, you can practically feel their acrid stench infiltrating your system. Gross. Briefly, you wonder why someone would ever willingly choose to put that human intoxicant filth into their system; however, you quickly realize where you are and drop the question due to its stupidity.
Your night is not going well. It's only been an hour, and you've already had a close call with collision, nearly lost your favorite skirt, and been drowned in a smell that you're sure is so horrible, it will follow you for the next week. Once or twice you've caught sight of Vriska, and she appears to be having fun. She's picked herself up some poor troll. Despite his rough n' tough appearance with the un-spiked mohawk and some rather…unstylish robot legs, you can instantly tell that his demure personality is not enough to stand up against your friend's, whose personality is eight times more outrageous than it needs to be. You cross your legs, somewhat disappointed. At first, when Vriska had suggested coming to the club, you'd been kind of excited to spend time with her. Your—er, moirail—had always been rather interesting to hang around. You follow her and her partner's path around the club with your eyes. You suppose, with the slight uplifting of your lips, that you should be happy that one of you is having some fun. A single fang slips to bite your lower lip as your stomach flutters unhappily.
You've been so focused on watching Vriska and her capture make their way around the dance floor that you neglected to notice when someone else settled down at your table. You turn with a start when a melodious female voice, lilted in a bit of a tease, makes its way to your ears,
"Your date appears to be ignoring you."
Her eyes had been following your own, and even though her small smirk was cast in your direction, her eyes were now too trailing Vriska's progress. You flush, both because of the statement and embarrassment at the fact that Vriska is doing things to her "date" which are much more suited to a private environment. It takes a moment before you realize that you haven't responded. You stutter as you speak, causing your cheeks to inflame a brighter green with each progressing word.
"I—ah, her? She isn't my date, we—um—we're just friends. She's my moirail and-" You break off, frustrated with your sudden inability to formulate coherent responses. After a moment, your eyes settle on the table in what you feel is downright humiliation, and you finish softly, "We're just friends."
You sit, waiting for a response. There is so little noise or movement coming from the other side of the table that you begin to think that the girl had just up and left. You tilt your chin up slightly, peeking up from your view of the table. What you see causes you to jump slightly. The girl is still present, and is leaning forward with her elbows on the table, chin in her palms. And she's watching you, with that same half-smirk on her face, as if she finds you amusing, but not enough to grant you a full on smile. You frown now, more confused than flustered. Your brow furrows just as a single corner of her lips lifts a smidgen more. What could she possibly want with you? You squirm, uncrossing and re-crossing your legs. Finally, once you feel you've gained control of your squawk blister—er, your voice, your venture to question,
"Is there something you need, or are you going to sit here staring at me for the rest of the evening?"
You're taken aback by the cold tone of your voice, and judging by the look on her face, so is she. Her eyes have widened slightly in surprise, and she leans back in her seat, arms shifting to rest on the table. Though she appears to be contemplating a response, you could've sworn you'd seen something flash brightly and hotly in her eyes. Her smirk, which for some time had been genuine, now takes on an eerily puppet-like quality. The girl opens her mouth to respond, but she is interrupted. You groan. Vriska has made her way back to the table, swaying in place, one fist clenched on the hem of her prey's untucked shirt. Her smile is lopsided, and behind her glasses you can see that her eyes are at half-mast and glazed. Vriska never could hold her liquor. You wrinkle your nose in distaste, but, neglecting to see, Vriska leans over your shoulder. She speaks into your ear, and though you know she thinks she's whispering, you nearly have to cringe away from how loud she's speaking,
"Heeeeeeeey, Kan-Kanaya."
She hiccups, pauses for a good ten seconds, and then continues,
"You don' mind if I head on-" Another hiccup "on home, do ya? Ta-, uh,"
Vriska pauses and glances at the troll held hostage by her grip, a brow lifted. For a moment, she seems to forget that you're there as she inquires,
"Whas' your name again?"
The troll, who appears to be much more sober than your moirail, replies in a soft voice,
"Uh, Tavros."
Vriska grins and snaps as if she knew all along before continuing to you in her slurred voice,
"Righ'! Tavros wans' to durive me home, an' I wus wonderin' if you coul' maybe...maybe find your own way home."
Vriska's voice is nearly beyond comprehension. You frown, your eyes fluttering between Tavros and Vriska. He seems to be incredibly timid. You figure that Vriska could handle herself against any antics he may attempt, tipsy or not. You just begin pondering over what you'll do to get back to your hive when the girl pipes up again,
"I'll take her home for you."
You forgot that she'd been there. With eyes wide in surprise, you turn to face her just as Vriska does. The smirk is back to its original state. Before you can decline as kindly as possible, Vriska chirps,
"Than's! Who are you, 'nyway?"
The girl's smirk morphs into more of a smile, though you can see the faint flaring of her nostrils. She must hate the smell of the liquor as much as you. Then why is she here?
"Rose."
Vriska's grin widened, and she discreetly not-so-discreetly leaned over to nudge your shoulder with her robotic arm. Then, with a wink and a cackle riddled in hiccups, Vriska spins (or swerves) on her heel and drags Tavros off, waving over her shoulder and leaving you alone with this Rose.
Hopeless, you turn back to Rose and fumble for a response. Finally, after several moments of fruitless efforts to come up with an alternative to receiving a ride from a stranger, you settle on striking up conversation. Perhaps if she's less of a stranger, you'll feel better about all of this. You gesture in the direction that your friend tottered off in with a brow inclined,
"Why are you here if the smell of liquor is as much of a nuisance to you as it is to me?"
Rose arches a brow in response, obviously surprised at the fact that you were able to notice her subtle facial expression. You shrug and await a reply. Helping others is a trait, or some would say a curse, that naturally finds its way to you. Because of your life-long occupation and obsession, it's necessary that you learn to read the slightest changes in facial expression. As Vriska once said, you are in fact a "lousy st8pid godd8mn supportive fri8nd." After a moment, she inhales through her nose. Her grimace reflects her immediate regret as she replies,
"I was bored. It appears I chose a good night to leave the house, though."
You tilt your head, confused as to how that statement is relevant whatsoever to the situation. Fortunately, she isn't finished,
"Not only do I get to see a drunken troll up close and personal, but I now get to escort the most fashionable troll I've ever seen home. My question is, however, what is this a dressed troll such as yourself doing in a rat hole like this?"
Rose's head tilts, and she appears genuinely interested. Your cheeks heat, and you rub a single one of your arms with your open palm, a nervous gesture of yours. Yet again you gesture at where your departed moirail once stood,
"I guess you can say I was...arachnapped."
You can't resist laughing at your own joke, and as a hand raises to cover your mouth, you spare a glance at Rose to find that she appears distinctly amused. Her smirk, which for a good bit of time you had found intimidating, has disappeared to be replaced with a much more friendly half-smile. You catch a glimpse of her teeth in the smile, but she quickly reigns herself back in to a face that makes her look as if she is sharing pleasantries with a relative rather than laughing at a joke whilst at a nightclub. This time, it is your turn to tilt your head. There's something about Rose that's odd. Nothing malevolent, of course. It just feels as if she's hiding something. Suddenly, Rose is standing and edging out from the booth. She turns and plants her hands on the table, looking at you with expectancy.
"Would you like to depart? I feel as if I'm developing a headache."
Once more you question whether it would be smart to go with someone who is still a near stranger. Once more, you realize that any other ways of getting back to your hive are improbable of occurring properly, and that it's best not to risk what you already have. So, you stand and inch your way out of the booth, frowning at the brown mark still lingering at the hem of your skirt. With cautious you lift the hem from the ground before nodding to Rose, who unexpectedly moves to grasp your hand.
You gasp from the contact, and with one look at the throngs of people in the crowd, decide it is solely because she does not wish for you to get lost in this mess of a place. You allow her to continue grasping you as she waves in between people, you trailing. After several moments, the slight chill of the air weaves along your skin and brushes back your skirt. You both inhale, and turn to look at Rose, only to find her staring right back at you.
Her grin is now accompanied with a flush, much to your own surprise. She tugs on your hand and you both lurch back into motion. Rose's car is somewhat unexpected. Rose's blonde hair styled more like an adult's than someone her age, mature face with sharp features, and sophisticated dress style led you to believe she'd possess a vehicle more modest in size and lighter in color. What you are now standing front of is a big, black, SUV type car. She doesn't appear to notice the odd expression on your face as she opens the door for you, shutting it after you've literally hoisted yourself up into the seat. With the purr of an engine and the snap of a car door shutting, you both are off.
Conversation on the way back to your hive is scattered, mostly you giving her directions to your hive and her asking questions about a completely random assortment of subjects, one of them wizards.
Despite the silence of the car, you can't help but notice that it's not uncomfortable. The tension that often accompanies silence around you isn't there, and you feel free to simply sit and move your eyes along the landscape, lingering on a well-plotted garden or a rather stunning piece of architecture that you pass by. Rose is driving easy in her seat, and appears to feel the same sense of easy silence that you do.
When she pulls up next to your hive, she puts the car in park and turns to you, a slight smile on her face. For a moment you think she is going to ask a question, however she simply states,
"It was nice meeting you, Kanaya."
Her hand extends, and you tentatively shake it. Once again, the contact sends a small shock through you. It's not until you've departed her car and she's pulled away and driven down the street do you realized that she pressed a piece of paper into your hand during the shake. In the dim light of the moon, the scrap reads,
"Call me. Rose Lalonde, 154-1995."