The Twenty-Second Day of Dark: 9:00 AM: LOG 0024

You've heard of them before, but you've never been in one. The only operate on artificial ring planets, such as Skaia, and run on tracks cutting through the center of the open space of the ring. They're called CrossSpeeders, and they're supposed to be the absolute shit.

You have to say that you are not disappointed.

The journey, even with the specially designed transport, takes a week. So, two- and four-berth cabins are provided. Each has a small kitchen and an encapsulated viewing area. Beyond the cabins, there are also shops and restaurants. Shows and entertainment are also offered, but those only come with the more expensive tickets. You're not complaining. This is much better than your usual traveling arrangements.

That's not the point, though. The point is that you're helping Dave plaster missing person posters on every available surface, where they join likely pointless announcements and lost pet notices from the past.

"So," you say, grabbing another paste-soaked page from Dave, "You think you know where John is, but you're still forcing me to get glue all over myself putting up these fucking posters?"

"Totally." Dave nods. "Spot on. I'm doing this to torture you, Karkat. Fucking suffer."

You roll your eyes. By now, you've managed to plow through a solid twenty posters. Where Dave got the money to produce these posters concerns you, but it's something you're not really that concerned about. You are, however, concerned about the look in his eye. There's a suspicious spark. A lively glimmer. And you're sure as fuck not ready to face what's behind it.

"I've been to Peakston. It's not really that interesting," you speak to distract Dave from whatever it is that he's thinking about.

For now, he's taking the bait. He offers you a slow nod before responding. "Yeah, right. It's probably a whole lot more interesting than the shit we were in." A breathy snicker. "That's what Kanaya says, too. They did say that it'll be hard for us to get around, though. Well..." He clicks his tongue a few times before handing you another poster. "For me, anyhow. From what I've seen in historical photo databases, there used to be these really outrageous wheelchairs that could climb steps. They were pretty much personal tanks, and they looked rad as fuck. From what I've heard, they're pretty common on other planets. Skaia doesn't really care about that sort of shit, though.

"Actually, I'm pretty sure that it's illegal to bring in that sort of stuff. Really, this planet hates everything that's not your supposedly standard-issue able-bodied human male." Dave tips his shades up, revealing his eyes, and you watch as they roll dramatically. At this point, you've grown interested. You want to know more and, perhaps above all, you want to know how he knows all this. So, when he keeps talking, you can't help but listen. "It's kind of weird, y'know?" He picks at the fabric of his red sweater. "I know that I could live a better life somewhere else, but there's no way for me to get there. And, if I'm going to be completely honest, I don't want to leave. I know people here. I know what it's like. I'm not rocketing off to another planet in the foreseeable future."

You nod. "Where'd you learn about all that?"

"I was born here, you fucking doofus," Dave snickers, "What else would I—?"

"No," you interject, "Where'd you learn about all that shit from the past?"

Dave frowns. He turns his head, something that seems (to you, at least) to be a means for him to avoid your gaze. With his shades, turning his had is definitely the most purposeful method of doing this. "It's a complicated thing..."

"Seems like a lot of your life is complicated," you mutter.

"Ha ha," he huffs. There's a few moments of silence. Then, after handing you the final poster, he speaks. "Fine. I'll cut it down to the basics. I was depressed after I got shot, spent a lot of time fucking around online, and found some stuff. That's it. There's nothing more to it."

Clearly, there's more to it, but you're not about to push him. "Fair enough."

"Did I ask you out?" Dave inquires.

Inwardly, you groan. Outwardly, you manage to maintain a modicum of agreeableness. "Yeah. But you were really fucking drunk."

"Well," Dave hums. He rubs the back of his right hand, wincing when the action causes the fingers to tremble. "I was thinking about it, and I was wondering if... Maybe... You... D'you maybe want to take me up on the offer? I've got some money from home, and I figured I might as well... Um... If you want to." A sheepish smile punctuates his inquiry.

And you, with his advice from earlier in mind, nod. Against your professional better judgement, you agree. "Sure. Why the fuck not?"

The Twenty-Second Day of Dark: 11:00 AM: LOG 0025

The atmosphere of the on-board burger joint Dave brought you to is rowdy enough for you to speak with him openly. No one is paying attention to either of you, save for the occasional set of stares.

In a way, it's nice. You've never had the chance to sit down with someone and just chat to them. Sure, you've done it before, but it usually ended with you poisoning a drink or straight up shooting someone. The only deviation might be if you stabbed the bastard instead. So, getting some downtime to just get to know Dave is nice. And, if you're being completely honest with yourself, you're seriously considering dropping the job. You'll cite some outrageous but technically indisputable reason. Maybe your nonexistent alien father died.

For now, you're just enjoying the ride. You believe the Humans call this "going with the flow." It's something you've never done before, and you're honestly amazed you haven't. It's uncanny how fucking enjoyable it is.