Gamzee Makara sat beneath the stairs, hunched over with his head in his arms to hide his deep indigo eyes from the light. He was in one of his 'pie phases', a phrase used to describe to time period when he mentally locked out the exterior world to reflect inward, with the help of some soporific pie, of course. The crowd elsewhere stomped and screamed down the hallways, but Gamzee ignored the trolls and remained still. A few strays from the mass passed by the stairs, either to engage in their group-smokes or to find a place suitable for their intimacy.
Gamzee's clown make-up, which decorated his face on a daily basis, had been smudged from the concert's activities, though this was on the bottom of his list of priorities. The stained, dirty, polka-dotted pants, and ripped shirt could also find their own peace later.
The lanky, inattentive Capricorn had no reason to not return home yet, even at such a late and dangerous hour; his father, a half goat, half aquatic animal lusus, was rarely home to enforce any sort of curfew, so for all that the boy cared for, he could have slept underneath this staircase for the rest of his life. That's Goatdad, alright, he thought.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, forcing the clown to sit straight and fetch his phone from his impossible deep pockets. Speak of the devil, here's the daily message of hey-son-I'm-not-going-to-be-home that comes every single night. Same time. Same message. The teen sighed and tucked his head back into his arms. "I swear he doesn't even write that himself. Or it's automatic," he whispered to no one in particular.
Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted as a glass bottle flew haphazardly down the steps and landed right on Gamzee's magnificent horns on top of his head. He straightened up once again, this time a little irked, and mumbled strong profanities while rubbing the spot the bottle had hit; the criminal bottle rolled down off his back and shattered. "What the motherfucking fuck?" A fit of laughter erupted from above and footsteps could be heard trampling away.
As long as he was up, shaking his fists like an old lusus fending off little grubs on their lawns, he might as well go home. No need to chase after delinquents. It was late anyways.
[+]
The next day, Vriska Serket strut down the main hallway in the school and approached her locker. Her long, flowing black hair trailed softly behind her; her blue eyes and lips reflected beautifully off the glass doors. I'm gracing these people with my beauty, she thought.
Vriska was desperate to put down all of these damned textbooks that were making both her eyes and her arms sore. Her fingers fumbled with her lock, and just as it clicked and swung open, one of her suitors slammed the door shut, putting himself between Vriska and her textbook storage. A tuft of obnoxiously hipster purple hair swung into Vriska's vision. She let out an audible groan, though she knew it'd have no effect in warding off this self-centered male.
"What do you want, Eridan," she growled between clenched teeth. "Wwell, I'm cravving something…. spicy right now," he replied with an eyebrow wiggle, eyeing Vriska.
"I don't care about your dietary needs or your impulses, Eridork. Beat it, numbnuts." Her arm was screaming for respite from the weight of the textbooks, which irritated her more than usual when she saw him. If only these nasty, mandatory policemen didn't wander the halls with their detention-happy attitudes, she could potentially throw one of these books into her strife deck.
On a whim, she simply let go of the texts and let them plummet to the floor; the three massive tomes crushed the male troll's feet, sending him flying backwards, gripping his feet with a pathetic look.
"VVRISKA!? WWHAT'S WWRONG WWITH YOU!?" He looked around for a hall monitor – anyone – to put this girl in her place. And then he would chivalrously bail her out with a short "wwell, Officer, I forgive her this time." She'd definitely fall into his arms then. Unfortunately for him, no hall monitors were in sight.
"I'm sorry, my arm was just sooooo tired and someone just happened to be blocking my path to the locker. Shaaaaaame," she mocked his cocky attitude in classrooms. Vriska knew she'd eventually have to spend time to slowly pick up her books and notes, but she'd first have to convince this fishboy to go away.
As if he read her mind, Eridan trudged away, but Vriska knew he'd be back; the prospect of another encounter forced her to sigh again. Annoyed, but still pleased with herself, she bent down to slowly pick up her items. Her long fingers grasped lazily at the papers; she had no desire to actually keep any of these worksheets, but the last thing she wanted was another detention for – oh the troll-manity - littering. In the corner of her eye, she saw a lanky arm extend and grasp one of her book. "HEY," Vriska hissed, "that's mi-."
"Woah motherfucker. Just trying to help someone out. Chill." A boy in clown makeup thrust the textbook forcefully into Vriska's arms, a clear sign he had been offended that his good intentions were met with daggered glares. Gamzee stared at the girl with glazed eyes, which she returned with an almost apologetic look. Before she could clear her name with an excuse, the boy stood straight – at least as straight as he could manage – and waddled off into another area of the school.
Vriska recognized the clown as someone who always hung out with that other short troll in her classes. What was that loud-mouth's name? Carcass? Cable? Karcat? Karkat. Yeah, Karkat. Which means that the stoned guy is Gamzee Makara; everyone knew Makara, but no one actually knew him. He was the 'school druggie': the guy that miraculously doesn't fail school. Everyone still placed bets on his success just to pass away the boredom. The only exclusive information that Vriska knew was that he liked really psychedelic music, which she inferred since she had spotted him in the crowd yesterday at the club.
[+]
After wandering around the halls, Gamzee Makara found a set of stairs in a corner. Gamzee sat down, legs wide open on the last step and enjoyed his sugar-filled beverage. He thought about the dark haired girl who had just slapped him in the face with ingratitude; she sure was a spiderbitch, he thought. That's what everyone called her. It rumor wasn't exactly true, as Gamzee recalls. He may be high on soporific pie all of the time, but he does hear the gossip around the hallways; it makes for a nice conversation with Karkat in the back of really boring lecture halls.
Gamzee had heard different stories of that girl. Serket. That was her name. Ser-motherfucking-ket. Serket was one hell of a looker, and to boot, she had a reputation for being controlling because her eyes just seemed to sink into everyone's minds; while some people found this stuff creepy, Gamzee found this mind-business to be interesting. Some people say she's a succubus. She lures men away and throws them into a dungeon for fun or something. Others' have more ridiculous stories, but even Gamzee found them awfully outlandish - which says a lot. If the Gamzee – the one in the clown make up – found something foolish, then anyone else was stupid to believe.
Gamzee blinked twice. How long had he been spacing out and tracing his mind for the 'history' of Vriska Serket? Wait- who? He broke his train of thought and looked down at his lap to greet his pie, only to realize he hadn't brought any to start with. This is what he gets for not eating that extra slice this morning; it's already messing with his head even more than it usually does. Gamzee got up slowly, but quickly lost his balance and tumbled to the floor.
"Nnnggg."
"Need help?" The voice sounded vaguely familiar. Gamzee's mess of a hair covered his face, but he managed to still peek through openings and saw the spiderbitch.
"Motherfuckin'…."
"Bro, sorry about earlier. I was just pissed around Eridork." Vriska extended a hand, which Gamzee grasped limply in his pie-deprived state. The girl tried to give one strong pull, but ended up underestimating the clown's weight and tumbled on top of him giving him yet another reason to let out periodic groans.
"Yo, Clown. Let go of my hand- Pffttt." Gamzee's fluffy mass of hair was in her mouth and she was tangled up in who knows what.
"Motherfucker, you're the one on top of me."
"Is that your sort of way to say oh-thanks-sexy-for-helping-me?"
"No, I'm just returning our earlier encounter." If he didn't let out a small chuckle, Vriska would have thought that he was trying to make an enemy of her.
"Alright. Fine." Vriska rolled off to the side, but still lay partly on top of Gamzee. She looked over at the strange boy and noticed his vacant eyes staring at the ceiling beneath his mess of hair. If they had more focus, they'd be an attractive dark-indido-purple-ish colour. Attractive, attractive, attractivey, attractive. The darkened lips weren't too bad either…
"Do you even know what time it is? Or care?"
"Ha, no," Gamzee said as he flailed his arms stupidly in the air. Vriska grunted and half considered that perhaps what her friends had told her was right; this clown was nuts in the head. But she reconsidered. If anyone knew that gossip in the hallways was usually incorrect, it'd be the spiderbitch herself.
"It's already one-thirty, clown."
"Awwwww that's not cool, bro. I got to run off to …. uh….. haha I don't even know where."
Judging by his slurred speech, Vriska guessed his was either long overdue on eating a pie, just sniffed some sparkly powder, or…. perhaps he really was wrong in the head. She rolled her eyes, and picked up the clown; she felt she owed him something for the rudeness earlier, and he better be grateful she was even trying to help him.
Arm in arm, she dragged him towards the south end of the building to their next class. Vriska was sure she had seen him in that class. Besides, there was nowhere else she could leave him without the hall monitors discovering him. "Bro, we got class together now. There's a test tomorrow."