You hear your phone buzz just as you're stretching a stockinette over the remainder of your left arm. You frown for a moment, staring at the stump that descends just past you shoulder before tapering off into a scarred nub. The first time you saw the damage done to your arm you were horrified. Horrified, angry, shocked and...
It doesn't matter. You've dwelled on the past more than enough this morning thanks to your dream. You push those thoughts to the back of your mind as you double check the inner socket of your prosthesis, making sure it's not dirty or wearing down anywhere. Satisfied that it's fine, you begin the now second-nature process of attaching your prosthetic into place. You might need to actually set your alarm clock tomorrow; if you'd had a class to get to this morning you wouldn't have had time to take a shower and dry off enough before re-attaching your arm.
Once your prosthetic is in place you reach over to pick up your phone and tap on the Pesterchum app.
tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering arachnidsGrip [AG]
[TT] Good morning, Vriska.
Right on time. You type back a reply.
[AG] People who say "good morning" should 8e forced to prove it.
[TT] Fair point. I see you're not a morning person.
[AG] Wh8tever g8ve you that idea?
[TT] Mostly your disdain of being awake at this gods-awful hour in the morning.
[AG] It's almost 8:45.
[TT] Did I fucking stutter?
[AG] ...
[AG] Now I remem8er why I decided you were 8kay.
[TT] Thank you.
[TT] What time would you like to hit the proverbial road today?
[AG] Give me ten more minutes to re-assem8le.
[TT] ?
[AG] Vriska Serket Model 2.0: Now with detachable arm! Some assem8ly required; 8attery not included.
[TT] I understand.
[TT] Shall I meet you outside the dorm in fifteen minutes then?
[AG] Yep, sounds gr8.
arachnidsGrip [AG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT]
You tuck your phone into your shoulder bag, and walk into the small bathroom attached to your room. The bathroom consist of a single narrow shower stall, a toilet, and a cramped sink and counter. Above said sink is a round mirror, and you take a moment to survey your reflection.
"That's as good as it's going to get," you murmur, running a brush through your hair once. With that, you walk out, grab your bag, and head outside to meet Rose.
...
"Where do you want to start?" You ask, nodding to the path in front of you. One direction leads to the main quad, and the other you think leads to the Arts building.
...Or possibly the running track. You're not sure.
"How about the quad?" Rose suggests, looking down at the map of the campus from yesterday. "It looks like most of the buildings stem off from there, with the exception of the physical activities center and the theatre."
Hah! You were right, the running track is that way!
"Sure," you shrug. "Works for me." You begin walking down the path together, quiet as the steady sound of students running from one place to the next mingles with the quiet murmur of conversations shared between the many people relaxing together on benches and under shady trees.
"So," You say, looking over at Rose after a couple of moments.
"Yes?" She asks, eyes still on the map. She's wearing a billowing purple ombre shirt today, along with black jeans. Looking down at your own red sneakers and old jean & t-shirt combo, you feel kind of slobby in comparison. You used to wear dark clothes with tears and jagged edges and ripped seams because they matched your reputation, but nowadays...Your wardrobe mostly consists of monochrome t-shirts, a few V-necks, and blue denim. You mentally roll your eyes. Only the finest for Vriska Serket. At least t-shirt are easy to put on though, anything with a lot of buttons or snaps is just a damn fucking pain.
"Tell me about yourself," you say, bored with the silence. "You said you're from New York..."
"And you said that you've lived in several places," Rose replies, now looking over at you as she walks.
"Right," you say, nodding. "So what was it like there? We both got a little sidetracked yesterday-"
"What with you vandalizing the décor at Simply Spurb Café and all," she interjects with a wink.
"A horrible accusation I will continue to deny," you shoot back with a mock glare. You both snort at that, and a moment she begins to speak again.
"Well, often cold and cynical, for starters," she says, sidestepping an abandoned coffee cup left on the middle of the sidewalk.
"Really?" You ask, doing the same. "But how could you possibly come from someplace like that? You're so optimistic and genuine!"
"Oh shut it, Spider," she says.
"Bitch," you reply automatically.
"Excuse me?" She laughs.
Heh, your bad.
"Spider Bitch is an old nickname of mine," you explain with something halfway between a smirk and a sneer. "Well, sort of an old nickname. I don't think the people who started it realized I knew anything about it." Not until they found out the hard way.
"I see," she nods. "Now tell me, did this nickname stem from your adoration of the number eight, or did your adoration of the number eight stem as a form of retaliation to this nickname?"
"The first one," you tell her. "However, the revenge aspect didn't hurt either," you wink. Though honestly, you can think of several reasons people would have called you that.
None of them are flattering.
Rose just laughs in response, and you grin. You thought things over for a while last night. There are a lot of things you can't share, a lot of things you will never share, not with Rose, and not with anyone. It's for the best. However, you can still have friends.
So long as you're careful.
That was the plan, still is the plan, you just needed a day to adjust to your new settings. Last night was a screw up, but you're not going to let it happen again. You've got your story, you've been practicing it for almost two years, and as far as anyone here will ever know, it's the truth. You're going to move on. You're going to make a new life for yourself. You're going to forget, and one day it really will be like it all never happened.
You've just got to keep your cool.
...
Your name is Dave Strider, and you are not, by any means, losing your cool. Nope. Not happening. You've got cool locked down like some top-secret government shit. Cool is in a maximum security prison with its own private holding cell with round the clock guards, so the public can rest safe and sound. Cool isn't going anywhere. Then again, if you don't do well here, neither is your career.
No.
Stop.
Don't think that way damn it.
You're a Strider; you're going to be fine. You're always fine, no matter what. You've just got to chill.
You've got this interview (15 minutes, 23 seconds to go) in the bag. You've been making sick beats since before your could string together a sentence. You've listened to the best damn music the world has to offer since you were in the literal crib. You learned to count by clapping in time to beats, you memorized your ABCs by alphabetizing records and CDs, you learned your damn colors by- well actually that had less to do with music and more to do with all the damn felt lying around the apartment, but still. It's not an exaggeration to say music is what's made up your life. Aside from your friends, swords, and the fucking masterful art of irony, there are not a lot of things you truly care about.
Except for music.
And that's why you're here. Because no matter how much life has kicked your ass over the years and made you wonder why the hell you even try, no matter how many times you retreated to your room at night caught between yelling and shaking because Bro was in one of his moods again, no matter how many times you just felt so damn done with all the shit going on in your life, no matter what, music has always been there for you.
Because every time when you were this close to doing the most artful fucking pirouette off the handle that this world had ever seen, every time you could hardly see straight, you could go to your turntables and let it all go. You could get lost in a sea of beats and counts and rhythm and everything else just faded the heck away. You could time every scratch perfectly until you found the perfect mix, no matter how long it took. You could pour everything you felt and everything you refused to feel into your music, and you would know.
You were going to be OKAY.
And now you're here.
Here, in the sense that you're sitting in a crappy plastic chair at a small radio station waiting for an interview, but more importantly here. At this point in your life, when it's starting to all come together. Here where everything you've done is collaborating to help you down the path of your life. Here, where all this metaphorical bullshit means that essentially, you're at your starting point. You've made it this far, and now you're at the part where you make your dreams a mother-fucking reality. You're doing this bro, you're making this happen.
You're here, and in 3 minutes and 47 seconds you're going to rock this damn interview to its core.
Just then, your psychological victory is interrupted by your phone buzzing.
gardenGnostic [GG]began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]
[GG] good luck with your interview today dave! :D
[GG] not that you need it of course
[GG] youre going to do great!
[GG] i know it ;)
[GG] oh!
[GG] and tie your shoes silly! 3
gardenGnostic [GG] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG]
You look down, not even half surprised to find that one of your shoelaces is in fact, untied. You laugh quietly to yourself as you re-tie your shoe. "Thanks, Harley," you smile.
"Dave Strider?" A tall woman calls, stepping out from the office in front of you.
"The one and only," you say, standing up and walking over to shake her hand.
"Kanoni Holloway," she replies. She looks you over before nodding once, and gestures for you to follow her into her office. You follow without hesitation.
You've got this.
AN: You didn't think I'd forget about Jade, did you?
Also! The new and improved Tumblr page for WBOTH is officially up and running, and three characters designs have already been posted, along with some short bios and a cast list.
Find it here: 8eautiful8luechaose . tumblr (copy and paste url)