Okay, so Dave Strider may or may not have been street lurking and he also may or may not have come in contact with a certain head of dark hair and persistent features and also may or may not have settled to meet up with them and jesus fuck, Dave had street lurked and had come in contact with that same kid and settled to meet up with him.
When his date with John had been interrupted by a phone call insisting that his cousins bakery had started a fire and, to Dave's misfortune, was mandatory to head over to make sure everyone was alright, he was left to his own mischief, or..
Yeah, no, Dave wasn't that kind of an idiot.
Instead, he had taken to lurking around the streets, camera in hand, snapping photos of the daily lives of others. The way children would mindlessly cry at the sight of another who would hold a conversation just as casual as any other to seemingly no one into a phone, the way concession stands and food sellers would wave their products and insist a purchase to by passers with just as persistent an interest at anything but them, was simply intriguing to this Strider.
With his attention drawn to a certain group of troll-dancers, one that he'd seen before on his occasional escapades around the city, he couldn't deny the annual snap of the camera he'd always take. The crowd was lurching in fits of applauding, and studying the photo was difficult. Fucking New Yorkers.
He'd managed to escape the horde to actually regard the photo with a vigilant eye that he'd noticed a familiar face and then-
Yep, spine aching and that same small feature molesting the fuck out of his grill. He was tempted to tell the kid to get the hell off and/or call the police, but the option was dubbed an ill choice when a look of surprise at his own actions took over the trolls features. There was a delicate exchange of words, careful but set with meaning, before Dave was off. Quickly.
Yeah, he wanted to get his shit out of there ASAP. That kid was kind of terrifying in a way and he'd be glad to get the shirt back and be done with it promptly. He sent only a single glance backwards to catch the horns on his mass of hair before he vanished around that same crowd. Well, that or the building on the corner Dave had turned was blocking his view, but in any case, he and the boy were moving in opposite directions. This Strider had just about enough of the worlds shenanigans for today.
Speaking of the day's worth of tomfoolery, he'd yet to ring up his damsel in distress of his cake crisis. Wow, Dave, stop sounding like you're from the 1900's, jesus fuck. With snarky circa speech behind, he tapped in the same number, the one embedded into his memory from years of knowing this kid, and smiled to the dialing connection as a ring bubbled out from the phone.
"Hello?"
"Hey, John, I'm heading back. Want me to stop by the bakery? How's the Crocker doin'?"
Dave could practically hear the laughter in John's voice, and it hurt his heart. "Everything's fine. Jane has to have an inspector come and poke around the place and she promised to take better care of the oven, but other than that, it's alright. Feel free to drop by, though."
"Sweet, and yes, pun intended." And without making space for the other to respond, he hit the fuck you button and slid the phone into his pocket.
• • •
A whine escaped his lips and, ow, he really should stop hitting his head on the counter. But then again, what better did he have to do? Snowman shot the teen a piercing glare with her vibrant emerald orbs before looking back to the customer. Apparently her gaze had not died down as the female had paled and her voice seemed lost when she just nodded to Snowman's inquiring of her purchased item.
Karkat, on the other hand, was tired and upset. Like payment for staying outside like a dumpster diver, he was required to help out at the store on particularly popular days like this. Though it was like a job as weekly he would normally offer to help out, his payment was clothes and things in the like. Of course, it wasn't like bribery, the whole "Work for us and we'll give you living supplies!" ruse. No, it was more like "I'd love to have you help out, take this as our gratitude," sort of situation.
Except now, Karkat was seriously not in the working mood. He was glad for a moment that he couldn't be permanently hired here, otherwise he'd just die. At that thought, he laughed onto the counter and- Wheezed a little.
"Come on deary, we've got business to do. No means to push and shove, but the customers are staring."
The troll had quickly identified Callie holding responsible for the harsh back pat, despite first assuming Jake, and leaned up from his recesses of agony. With a groan, Callie led him off towards the back, ushering with the task of hanging up recently shipped clothing articles.
Half way to the back, he fell to a stop. "That reminds me! This sounds seriously imposing and yeah, I know, what shitfactory did I come from, right? But I need to borrow a shirt." With eyebrows raised, his gaze rested on the girls face.
"Oh, well of course, but.. Might I ask why?" Her own abnormally pallid brows furrowed together on her forehead, and Karkat resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He didn't exactly want to explain the embarrassing situation he'd hauled himself into.
"Something happened to this sweater and.. yeah," he gave a wave of his hands in a circular motion, suggesting to move on. "I just need a new shirt. You know what, let's just say this one smells like reeking ass." The teen frowned at himself, but whatever, works for now.
Callie seemed to take that as a reasonable answer and made a gesture to a certain clothing rack labeled by "teens." Karkat nodded in thanks and, with a quick reminder to finish the task at hand, sauntered towards it.
Wow, fuck, these shirts were god awful. There was one that said 'I Love Mayonnaise' on it and one completely doused in the fruity pebbles pattern and jesus fuck he was mortified. Color him shocked, but one literally said baby slut on it and that got him retching. Literally, he had never seen such backwards bullshit logic in anyones two faced mind that would compel an idiot to buy such a thing, and he was gaping at it in silence when yet another hand practically broke his shoulder.
This time, he was fairly sure who he would identify it as, because he only knew one person who worked out enough in such ridiculous portions to manage such annoying potency, that person being Dirk Strider, whose calm voice drifted into his revolted silence. Karkat could hear the amusement in it when he did.
"Suits you." And Karkat was ready to bite fingers off. Instead, in spite of his urge to, he made a harsh jab of his elbow. Dirk being.. Well, Dirk, leaned away easily before returning to his previous standing position, rewarding an eye roll from the smaller teen.
"I'm not buying it. I just need a shirt to wear, and one that doesn't point me out like a beacon in the night sky." He continued flicking through the rack, and Dirk made a noise familiar to a snicker before lounging off to the opposite side. It didn't take long for him to find another handful of awful clothing choices and the same for Dirk, of which they snickered at together with a fit of eyebrow waggling and snarky comments. Then, there was a noise of surprise from the blonde's side.
"What, another 'Bad Girls' shirt?" Karkat raised his brows and stood on his tip toes in attempt to peer over. Of course, his 4'8 self got nowhere with that, and Dirk's small poke of blonde hair was moving towards his side. When he poked around the corner of the rack, he raised a sweater laced over a hanger, this time waggling his brows more suggestively than jokingly.
Actually, it wasn't that bad a sweater. It was blue definitely, adorned in small flowers of red in patterns along it, save for the 'peter pan' collar around the neck. Compared to the other things he'd seen, he was almost glad to find something like that, and took it from the Strider immediately with a satisfied grin. "Flowers are better than Fuck-Butt, at least. Thanks."
Dirk gave him a little nudge on his arm before grabbing a shirt for himself and striding off. No idea why he wanted a shirt, but whatever floated his boat. The teen shrugged and strode off to the dressing room, tossing it on. Wow, he didn't look bad.
• • •
Dirk Strider was done with being a workhorse and he'd practically thrown himself into the apartment before groaning for aid to actually walk, and that aid came in little time with a snap of comments and ranting as he went down the stairs. That aid was his little bro, Dave. Dave-Stri. Dave Strider. Strider. Lil' Man. Whatever the fuck Dirk happened to spur up to call the kid, maybe.
"Work tough?" A hand met Dirk's, and with a groan of exhaustion, he was pulled up onto his feet. Dave simply raised a brow, frowning at him. Dirk simply rolled his shoulders and shrugged afterwards. "No, I'm just hella lethargic." He made an expression of pity inwardly before striding to the kitchen. Yep, it was sugar bomb time. He had work to do still.
"Heads up, John's here, so don't make too much noise in the garage." He turned and was heading up the stairs in little time.
"Oh, hey, wait." Dave glanced back at Dirk's words, brows arched again. Dirk made a gesture to the bag he'd abandoned as he plunged in, urging the younger Strider to take it. That was what Dave did, heading back down the stairs like he had before taking hold of the bag. There was a snort of laughter before he pulled the shirt out, grinning at the letters bold on the front in white text:
BABY SLUT.
And that had the two Strider's snickering at each other before Dave rolled his eyes, frames off, thanking the other and heading up the stairs same as he had before. Moments later, he heard that same laughter from his brother and the bespectacled boyfriend of him. With that lighter feeling in his chest, he made a turn around the kitchen and to the door leading into the garage, his work space.
Music on and placed over his ears, loud enough to drown out any other noise, he began tinkering.