Two girls sit on a bench, giggling uproariously. At some point in the recent past, there was a joke, but since neither of them can recall it now, it is no longer relevant.
If questioned, Roxy Lalonde would insist that she was perfectly sober – okay, maybe a little tipsy, but she was on a new planet right? It was a time to celebrate.
A more objective witness would be likely to label her current state 'falling-down drunk.' Unfortunately, the trolls passing by are anything but objective, and they have their own labels.
"Disgraceful," one mutters as he walks past. Roxy does not hear him, but his expression leaves no doubt as to the sentiment.
She stops laughing.
"Are we being disgraceful?" she asks her companion.
"Ugh," Vriska replies, coherently.
"People is always judgin me..." Roxy sighs. "Just coz I know how to have fun."
Vriska hums distractedly.
"I mean... we're eighteen!" Roxy protests. "S'not even illegal. Now."
"I'm not," Vriska tells her. "I'm nine."
"Oh." Roxy laughs. "I shouldn't let you have booze! I must be disgraceful."
"Stupid word," Vriska grumbles. "People are always judging. Judgey judgey judge. But if you do what they say, someone else is mad! I mean, yeah, I killed a few people, but I'm not a monster, you know?"
"Yeah... What?"
"It's not like they're any better than me..." Vriska slumps. "I'm better than aaaaaaaall of the trolls."
"All of 'em," Roxy echoes.
"I say t'hell with 'em." Vriska declares. "They can judge all they like. I'm gonna be whatever the fuck I feel like."
Roxy leans over and kisses her sloppily. As she pulls away, her lipstick smears across Vriska's mouth, leaving a streak of magenta through her cerulean blush. A passing highblood gasps and shakes her head in dismay.
"Hear hear," Roxy mutters into her girlfriend's neck. "Hear fuckin hear."