Hello! My name, if you haven't already seen it, is Kurloz! I'm new to fanfiction net, but I assure you I am not a novice when it comes to writing. I can provide a nice plot, sweet love stories, and the most profound tragedy, if only you give me the chance. Please, it's important for anyone interested to know now, that English is not my first language! I grew up speaking Spanish, so if there are misconceptions or typos scattered about.. well, I'm sorry in advanced. I mostly (only) write Homestuck, and if you actually clicked on this story then you won't mind. Also note that many tagged pairings come later on in the story, and there will be frequent pov shifts. Please remember to review, add to favorites, and follow! Reviews, however, are the most appreciated, since It makes me so happy to see what you guys think. So sorry for my rant, now on with the show!

Chapter One: Prologue..? New House Smell

People frequently sigh in content over the smell of a new car, finding it to be industrial and perfect. I, on the other hand, prefer the smell of a new house more than any other, even if it has been previously owned. I set my bags down by the door, ignoring my father's complaints as socked feet led me to the kitchen. I could see my goofy reflection in the spotless marble countertops, my nose catching a whiff of lemon scented disinfectant.

With a small 'hmph' and a satisfying knock to the solid counter, I moved along, tanned hands ghosting along stainless steel appliances. There was a sturdy looking oven fastened to the wall, tucked beneath an impressive window, which gave me a nice view of the Kelly green grass. It was late spring, and I had been homeschooled for half of the year in order to cope with the hectic moving schedule.

Despite my addiction to computer programming and sweet, sweet Nick Cage, I somehow found it within myself to complete my work diligently, if not insanely early, and was able to enjoy my summer vacation two months early. The late May afternoon looked inviting, with a large yellow sun bleaching the robin egg toned sky as it took its perch above the road, seated between two neighboring houses.

Dad startled me when he plopped a brown paper bag on the counter, keys flying off to god knows where as he reached for his favorite ingredient. Betty Crocker Cake Mix.

I wouldn't say that my dad had a cake addiction, no, he had more of a cake lifestyle, baking needless pastries for no apparent reason. Sometimes, just to escape my scrutinizing gaze or my abrupt abscond, he'd make up excuses, fake celebrations. As of late, his witty remarks have degraded to 'It's somebody's birthday somewhere, my son', and he'd crinkled that big, majestic nose of his and roll up crisp white sleeves as he put his groceries away.

This occasion was no different, and my dad politely requested that I put away the eggs, so that they can be in the best condition by the time he is ready to bake. Before I was even able to locate the plastic yellow container, the oven was already set to preheat.

Letting out a soft sigh, I rolled my cerulean eyes behind thick lensed glasses, pulling open the fridge to release a cold gust of air. Huh, how odd... I set the eggs in the middle shelf, directly above the meat crisper, and grabbed a small bottle of apple juice that had been hanging out on the door's shelf. There was a crappy drawing of an apple. IT had a bite taken out of it to resemble a smile, and black lines for eyes, legs, and arms. The drawing was shit, but it was better than anything I could do, so I found it cute.

I set it back where I had found it, an odd part of me not wanting to get rid of the random unclaimed grocery. Once the milk, bacon, and other delicious food-stuffs were set into the refrigerator, I silently snuck away from my father, collecting my bags and trekking upstairs to my bedroom. My father had already informed me as to where my room would be, stating that It had already been furnished before we had arrived, and that all it needed was some sprucing up, and some more lively décor.

I tossed my bags (two rather seedy looking duffle bags.. like the ones nick cage kept pictures of his wife and Casey in when he played the iconic role of Cameron in Con Air...) onto the nude mattress, unzipping them with a finesse that I had all but mastered over the years. The first thing I pulled out were my movie posters, and I smiled warmly at Matthew McConaughey 's soft blue eyes. Oh Matt, even your sappy romance stories make me smile..

I arranged all of my posters in a half circle on my bed, and decided to hand them randomly about my room, starting with Bill Cosby. I set him on the wall in front of my bed, so that when I woke up in the morning I'd be greeted by the ideal fatherly figure. Don't get me wrong, I loved my own dad very much, but...

Wherever my hand hit on the wall was where I would place the next poster. Finally, after several hard wall slaps, I finished by hanging my Nick Cage poster over my bed, so that he may bless my dreams with daring action and sweet one liners. I then pulled the bed away from the wall, reaching into my second duffel bag to retrieve the weird, scrunchy bed sheet thing, which took me a full thirty minutes to successfully encase my mattress in. I then set a generic white sheet on top of the bed to alleviate stress from the scrunchy one, and then decorated the whole thing with a plane white pillow and my old ghost blanket. I loved that old thing.. it smelt like home.

When the bed was all decorated, I pushed it back against the wall, nestled to the right of the door, near the window. Nick Cage stared down at me with placid approval, and I grinned back, quickly emptying various prankster accessories into my magic chest before hooking up assorted cables to my computer. There, now I could finally use the old thing... well... later, when I was done decorating.

I quickly emptied my bags of any shirts I hadn't put away earlier, stuffing them in my dresser along with all of my other clothing, taking no care in a particular order, just... shoving it all in there. I put my CDs in their stand, which stood regally beside my desk, and then made my way over to the closet, so that I could put my Colonel Sassacre's Daunting Text book away where it would be safe. I saw plenty of warm winter coats, jackets, hats, and shoes, and coincidentally there was no floor space for the book in sight. I glances up, to the unnecessarily high shelf, only to notice that there were boxes there.

I frowned, squinting to get a better look at the unfamiliar name written there.

property of dave strider, dont break this shit its fragile

Dave Strider...? I was fairly certain I didn't know anyone by that name, or surname, for that matter. I made room for my book inside of my magic chest, finding no immediate urge to discard the mystery boxes. Instead, I would pilfer through them and steal any of the sweet loot abandoned by what I assumed to be the previous house owner.

I weaseled my way in between my magic chest and the wall, pushing it until it had budged from its original spot and then dragging it with all my might to the center of the room. With my energy and will fading fast, scrawny nerd muscles crying for help, and computer becoming with a voice like silk, I nearly considered giving up. But when my eyes caught sight of the brown boxes, my interest was piqued once more, and the slight rush of endorphins and adrenaline allowed me to drag the star spangled chest to the closet, where I stood atop in so that I could remove the boxes safely.

The first one was surprisingly light, and as I passed my hand through it I felt microfibers and felt cloth, taking the form of... well I guess I'd have to see to find out. I got off of the chest so that I could place the rather dusty box on my bed, before resisting temptation long enough to retrieve the other box from the elevated shelf. The second one was larger in girth and height, and had a lot more weight as well. This one was the box that held to warning not to break this shit, and even though the owner wasn't here to scold me for any mishaps, I forced myself to be as carefully as humanly possible, taking slow and well planned steps as I transported the supposedly fragile contents to my bed.

I began with the smaller box first, blowing the dust off of the box and then covering my nose and mouth, waiting for the particles to disperse as to not trigger my asthma. Luckily, I had no adverse reactions to the dust concentration, and I peered inside.

Stuffed animals. The box was filled with an odd array of stuffed animals with round, squishy bottoms and rather phallic noses. How... charming..? I cleared the plushies out of the way, jumping slightly when a squeak emerged from a neon pink one's belly as its nose hit my wall. Underneath the stuffed animals I discovered an old Xbox 360, which kind of excited me, despite all of the bad reviews I had seen on the internet. What the hell, it's a free Xbox, even if it overheated and dyed on me, I wouldn't have paid for it to begin with. I smirked at the console, moving it onto my bed and finding chords, games, and controllers hidden beneath it. Score..!

I packed everything back into the box in a neat and orderly fashion, setting it on the ground and then pushing it under my bed, so that my father wouldn't see it for a while, therefore wouldn't ask me any questions.

There's nothing worse than playing twenty questions with a man that tries to feed you cake between each syllable.

In the second box, which I had to rip tape off of to open, was a complex turn table system, with knobs and lights and switches I didn't even believe were necessary. I blew the dust off of the two records that perched in the middle of the buttonic chaos, sneezing when it all flew up towards my watering eyes and stuffed nose. Crap.. the allergies were really starting to get to me..

I reached out a dark hand to touch the device, the forbidden object just begging to me messed with. The records felt smooth, yet grooved, beneath my fingerti-

"Hey, who the hell are you, and what do you think you're doing with my turntables?"

I turned abruptly, blood running cold in my veins, to see a blonde haired cool kid floating a mere inch from my face.