Everything's broken, Nothing is Sacred, and Life is Beautiful.
Thirty-four degrees and ice covered the sidewalk, making taking a simple stroll slightly more treacherous than usual. Already, the clouds gathered overhead as a large foreshadowing of the snow to come. The cold brick and pavement soaked in lecherous graffiti and dressed in frozen chain link fenced off the city from the outside world. All the plants had long since passed in the autumn months, and were simply waiting to re-awaken in the spring.
His breath froze before him and hung in the air like a damp, icy cloud, before being whisked away by a rolling breeze. He hugged his jacket tighter to his frame, with little avail. He had clutched in his right gloved hand, a thin plastic bag filled with cereal, oatmeal, soup, and a half-eaten gyro stuffed inside. He's young, possibly in his early twenties, with feathered black hair that shone odd colors of violet and lime in the sunlight. On an overcast day this wasn't noticeable, however. His eyes had a faraway look to them, the irises a deep violet blue color. His face was painted, a white and smokey gray mask that hid the deep inner workings of his mind. God only knows what that boy was thinking.
His house was a few blocks ahead, and he had no way of knowing if he was the only one awake or not. He wanted to continue his stroll, but the cold prevented him from desiring anything further to do with lollygagging. He hopped a few fences until he was in his own back yard, which was large with few obstacles or plants, save for a giant tree that was hundreds of years old and a detached garage. He contemplated walking up the handicapped ramp to the deck, but decided against it and shambled up over it instead and finally made it to his back door. He opened the screen, pressing his back against it, and opens the solid white door to allow himself in. Once inside, he heard some mumblings and frantic yelling down in the basement. Curious, he sets the bag down on the kitchen table nearby, pulls out the half-eaten gyro, and heads down the thinly carpeted stairs.
There was a slender, black haired boy in the laundry room, beside the main "living" space of the basement. In the laundry room was a hidden small half bathroom with a toilet, a sink, and a lightbulb that hung loosely from the ceiling. He was cussing in all colors of the rainbow at the wobbling, squealing washing machine in front of him. His foot launches and kicks the retaliating machine, hard enough to dent it. His brown eyes furrow in raw fury.
"These machines are BULLSHIT." He took both his hands and shook the machine brutally, desperately trying to get it to re-align and stop rocking off its hinges. "Stupid fucking motherfucking cock sucking goddamned chair-fucking worthless piece of SHIT." He hopped up finally, and just sat on the revolting machine. He crossed his arms, gruff and angry with seemingly everything. He was shorter than the first male, with a rounded, small nose, and semi-gentle facial features. His eyes were constantly in a rage, however, and seemed to glow under his mop of silky black hair.
The taller of the two chuckled darkly as he lumbered into the laundry room, scratching his messy hair as the irritated boy seemingly shat his pants at the sudden arrival of his friend. Once he figured out who it was, he seemed to calm down. Assessing the situation for all of thirty seconds, the painted male grinned. "Can't get it to motherfucking work, can you? Need any help?" The smart-ass on the washing machine groaned audibly.
"Oh? And what do you suggest? I paint my face to show how I've reached an inner nirvanna and wait for a fucking miracle? You have got to be the most useless excuse for breath and blood I have ever had the fucking misfortune of calling my roommate and acquaintance, Gamzee." The taller and more muscular man, apparently named Gamzee, cocked his eyebrow.
"You don't need me then?"
"Fuck off!"
"...did you call Sollux?"
"FUCK SOLLUX." His voice was now bouncing with the rebellious appliance under him. It was all Gamzee could do to not laugh. "Fucker is only good with computers and retarded, useless shit anyway. GOD ITS FUCKING FREEZING." he hugged his ribcage tightly, chattering his teeth. Gamzee now noticed the strict feel of the air in the basement, stinging his joints and bones softly yet sharply. He rubbed his arm, smirking at his little friend.
"You don't have the heater on down here?"
"No. Tavros had it on earlier when him and his stupid fucking nerd friends were down here playing...I dunno. Magic the Gathering? Some stupid nerd bullshit that doesn't amount to JACK in the real world. Has playing card games ever helped pay bills? Other than professional poker? I figured the heater would still be on when I got down here. BUT NOOO little FUCKER shut it off before I got here. Now I can't fucking leave to turn it up a little cause this fucking stupid washing machine won't stand still and resist leaving dents in the PAPER FUCKING THIN WALLS. The dryer? Left a fucking gaping HOLE over there." He points to the dryer beside him, and lo and behold, there was an open gaping hole in the 60's style wood paneling.
Gamzee whistled. "...did you try...re-adjusting the clothes in the washer? Might be motherfucking off balance."
"I'm washing my blanket." He leered up at him. "Its covered in cat piss."
"...we don't have a cat." Consider Gamzee's mind blown.
"I KNOW THAT, DINGUS." And he was nearly knocked off his perch from the bucking washer. He corrected himself on his high seat, and stared at the gyro in Gamzee's hand. "...the fuck did you get that from?" Gamzee stared at his hand, forgetting the gyro was even there, then perked, taking a huge bite out of the dripping mess. He made a content hum, before waving it over to his buddy. "Wan' bite?" The shorter boy wrinkled his nose in disgust, shaking his head. "After you've slobbered all over it? No thanks."
Oh. That boy? The irritable one? His name is Karkat Vantas. That wasn't going to become obvious during any sort of conversation in the future. At all. Hes terrible about presenting himself. He wants you to figure it out, most occasions. Gamzee shrugged and took another bite, before walking over, punching the washer once, then heading back upstairs. "Its motherfucking cold down here, I'm gonna go find Tavbro."
Karkat blinked rapidly, and stared at the machine. It...was miraculously fixed. Karkat hopped off, and stared at it. It no longer rocked off its feet and stayed put where it was supposed to. He rubbed his tear ducts and sighed. "That motherfucking stupid dumbass and his goddamned ridiculously retarded miracles I will not hear the end of this for a while." That being said, he headed over to turn the light off to the laundry room, then headed to the stairs to turn off the light to the basement, and jogged back up them. His bones ached from the cold, and the impact from his feet hitting the poorly covered cement stairs caused a bit of a dull, sharp pain to shoot up his legs.
"WHY do I have to live in a goddamned frozen sewage dump? Why oh why oh fucking god what fucking sense does it make? 'Oh hey Karkat I was fixing to all up and get a little motherfucking place by myself, wanna be roomies?' 'Oh absolutely, Gamzee! That sounds swimming. Where is it?' 'SIBERIA.'" He grumbled to himself as he slammed the door to the basement behind him. He stared at the shopping bag his incoherent roommate left on the table, and immediately flocked to it out of pure curiosity. He shuffled through, and sighed, finding nothing interesting. Slowly, he absent mindedly started putting the food away, balling up the grocery bag and tossing it under the sink. When he stood straight, he found himself staring out of the tiny white window over the faucet, his body calmed by the sight of newly falling snow drifting in the half-frozen air. His teeth raked over his bottom lip, contemplating the scene.
Their kitchen was out of date with its fixtures, an odd yellow color, and the window was crowded by shambling cabinets. From the sides of those cabinets and crowding the window were plants. Long, whispy plants, plants with curled leaves and fronds, very few flowering plants, all green and perky with life. Tavros watered these plants each morning and every night, like they were pets he needed to feed. The counters were covered in cheap wood, and was horridly scratched. They didn't boast a lot of space, so they were constantly cluttered. The fridge was a dull yellow color, stained, and covered in magnets with photographs and sticky notes. On the other end of the room by the door to the basement and the door to the back deck, was a small kitchen table shoved in the corner. It was covered in papers, napkins, and receipts. The chairs didn't match in the least, and the light fixture was weakly attached to the ceiling and dangled over its surface.
Karkat had no idea where that idiot went. He could literally be -anywhere- by now. He didn't exactly have the energy to seek out his half-witted friend, so he simply leaned against the counter and stared out of the small, simply paned window as frost began to settle in the world outside.