This was the day that Eridan Ampora met the guys across the street.
He stood in the middle of his new place, just absorbing the emptiness. The emptiness and the garish hue of the yellow walls and brown carpet. It really was the most hideous place he'd ever stepped inside of.
And that's what made it so fucking perfect.
He took a few steps to the right and walked off the brown carpet and onto the olive linoleum of the kitchen. He peeled off his light brown jacket, pooling it on the white countertop next to the sink. There was a gaping hole in the kitchen where an oven would go. Eridan stood in front of it and held out an arm, lining his thumb up with the marred space.
He actually had no real clue why people did this, he just thought it looked artistic. Plus he wanted to be in a suitably pensive pose while he envisioned the oven he'd picked out taking up the space his thumb was currently occupying. He'd made sure it looked like something out of the eighties. A tan stovetop with heated coils for a range and a black oven door sporting a handle with one of those tacky stick-on strips of plastic made to imitate a dark wood.
It was going to look absolutely atrocious.
He grinned, pulling his thumb back and running his hand through his mess of brown hair. Speaking of which, he had just been flying on a plane for about three hours. About one of which he'd spent sleeping. And that was an approximation, because getting one solid our of sleep on a plane was fucking impossible. But he'd fidgeted and shifted and punched his shitty plastic pillow enough times to make the guy next to him give him more than a few sour stares. So he was sure his hair looked like a mess, and he hadn't had a chance to get to a mirror since takeoff.
So it was out of the kitchen he went, making a brisk left down the hallway, and another left into the bathroom. The walls were adorned with faded pink wallpaper with tiny white spots, and the medicine cabinet was a rather bulky wood-framed affair. He stood over the porcelain sink and inspected his reflection closely.
Yeah, it was a grim hair situation indeed. He was rather nauseated at the thought that he'd dashed blindly through the Burnham airport in a mad rush to catch his bus looking as haggard as he did. He ran a thumb over his long, angular jaw, feeling the five o'clock shadow that was already waxing over his face despite the fact that it was only four. Load of fucking bullshit was what it was. He combed his fingers through his dark brown hair, trying to get the purple streak running back from his forehead to look presentable.
It was hard trying to make his hair look so effortlessly gorgeous.
He was going to need a bit of product.
He traipsed back to the living room and stooped down to grab his backpack and suitcase of necessities. His other goods would be arriving the next day, so he'd made sure to pack anything especially important to take with him on the plane.
Eridan dragged the whole mess into the bathroom and unzipped everything so he could begin spelunking through his goods. There were a lot of nice shirts to go through, and he didn't want to wrinkle any of them. It took a careful hand to excavate everything and locate the bottle of product he used for is hair, as well as his razor and shaving cream. He snatched up the bottle of cologne he found on the way too. Why not? This was a completely new place and he was a completely new guy. He wouldn't be surprised if he had neighbors stopping by to examine his place and inquire into his life story. Who could blame them? He did sort of ooze artistic intrigue. And artistic intrigue had to smell good.
The whole process took about an hour, but it was an hour well spent. He looked a lot fresher for it. He spent another twenty minutes just sort of admiring his handiwork and adjusting his thick rimmed black glasses as he turned his head at different angles.
Damn, he cleaned up nice. He ran a hand under his chin and down his neck to make sure he hadn't missed anything while shaving. Nope. He had a steady and meticulous hand. He held it up to the mirror, sliding his assortment of rings back on his long and rather knobby fingers. Artist's fingers. That was what he always told himself.
He took hold of his bags and dragged them out of the bathroom and back into the hallway, scuttling backwards as he pulled them along. He made his way down the hall in this fashion toward the door of the only bedroom, where he did a masterful job of sort of jimmying the handle with his ass to get it open.
He had the most talented ass ever.
Eridan backed into the room. There was no bed yet. Just faded purple carpet tiles and more yellow walls. He slid his stuff into the corner of the room and dug a flimsy cloth sleeping bag from his suitcase. It was one he had found at a rummage sale in the more low income part of his old town. A faded brown affair with a blue and red plaid pattern.
Yep. He was going to do all of this the hard way.
The right way.
He unrolled it over the floor and smoothed it out, breathing in the smell of mothballs as he did. He tried to relish in the odor, but he just sort of coughed and sneezed a little. Whatever, it was the thought that counted. He then squatted in the middle of his sleeping bag and stared at the door of his room.
He put his hands on his knobby knees and rubbed his slender thighs a bit, just to warm them. It wasn't cold in the room. Not physically. But the chill of solitude was beginning to set in. The tips of his fingers tingled, itching for the phone in his pocket.
It felt wrong not to call her. He stuffed his thumb into his mouth and chewed on his bitten nails instead, trying to assuage the temptation to tug out his cell and let his fingers tap on her name in his contacts list.
No. He'd made himself a promise. This was the beginning of a new life. And he sure as hell wasn't going to cave on the first fucking day.
Eridan sprawled out on his sleeping bag. He stared up at his ceiling for what felt like hours, squinting at the dingy light in the middle of it. As the room began to fill with the golden light and slanted shadows of sunset, he rolled off his makeshift bed and crawled to the door to flick the light switch on. He then scooted over to his stuff and pulled out his GameBoy Color and his Megaman Xtreme cartridge, which he stuffed into the handheld's slot. He went back to his sleeping bag and stretched out on his stomach before he began to play.
He wasn't sure how long he spent dodging enemies and listening to the excited blips of the game, but by the time his house started to shake with the vibrations of bass, it was already dark out. He frowned, looking up and watching as dust began to sift down from his ceiling. He switched off his video game and crawled to his window, putting his hands up on the glass as he peered outside.
Across the street was a little dump of a house. Not much different from his own. It was a tiny little place covered with chipped white paint and crumbling shingles. On the lawn were a few knots of two or three people standing amidst a mess of scattered beer bottles and red plastic cups. Two individuals were nestled in between a pair of overgrown bushes, kissing passionately.
It made Eridan a bit indignant. Not only because there was an obnoxious party going on at the house across the street, but because it was an obnoxious party that he hadn't been invited to. Did they think he couldn't get his drink on if he wanted? He wasn't that fucking sheltered.
He took a moment to remind himself that he had yet to meet any of his neighbors, but he just knew that those were the thoughts that would fly through their heads once he did.
He tossed his GameBoy back into his backpack and rummaged around in his suitcase. He pulled out a pair of tight, faded jeans that were adorned with a few artfully placed tears. He then grabbed a purple tank and a thin white button down. He pulled the articles on, making sure that he buttoned just the middle part of his white shirt so that a suitable amount of skin on his stomach and chest was visible. He then slid his feet into a pair of flipflops and gave his reflection a once-over in the mirror before leaving the house.
He looked both ways before jogging across the street, the beaded bracelets on his wrist clicking together as he went. The people on the lawn gave him a few passing glances, but none of them turned to him.
At least, they didn't until he invaded one of their circles.
"Hey guys. The name's Eridan."
They looked at him, one of the boys taking a drag from a cigarette. A girl with tangled black hair and really shitty taste in shirts turned to him. Her teeth looked especially white beneath her blue lipstick as she grinned.
"Heeeeeeeey, Eridumbass. Are you some kind of party crasher? I haven't seen your mug around here before," she said.
"I just moved into that house today," Eridan explained, jerking a thumb over his shoulder and trying not to be fazed by her words. This was like, ghetto talk or something. He'd just have to get used to it and learn to adopt it.
"Uh-huh," she replied, looking bored. "I would really like to let you into this fancy shindig we are currently sporting over here, but the truth is, there's kind of a toll you have to pay. Like an admission fee or something."
Eridan's thick eyebrows pulled together in confusion. He hadn't expected there to be fees at parties like this. But he guessed the lower class had to make their money somehow.
"Okay, what sort a fee are you goin' to be requirin' here?" he asked.
"A cigarette," she replied, opening up her hand and thrusting it under his nose expectantly. "All newcomers are required to let me bum a smoke off them before they can be admitted into the house of partydom."
Eridan felt his stomach shrink. Shit. Smoking was something he'd never tried, as per the strict health code that had been forced on him at an early age. It allowed him to breathe pretty well, but was now serving to make him look like a jackass in front of these people. He wondered if they could see him starting to sweat. Fuck, one of them was smiling.
"Like, is this your party or something, is that why I'm bein' forced to submit this fee?" he asked, shoving his hands in his pockets so that they wouldn't start shaking.
"Psh! It might as well be!" the girl laughed. Her canine teeth looked very sharp. Almost as if she had fangs or something. "Like anybody would come to Karkat's shitty parties if I didn't show up."
"So where's this Karkat person? Seems like I should be footin' the bill to him," Eridan said, trying to keep himself from beginning to stutter. It was a nasty sort of thing that always decided to rear its ugly head when he felt the nerves begin to invade his stomach.
The girl smiled and hooked a long arm around Eridan's shoulders, pulling him close. Eridan was decently tall for his twenty-three years, but this girl was almost of a height with him.
"You're a pretty funny guy, Eridan. But it sounds like you're trying to avoid the toll, here. And that's just not going to fly. In fact, it almost sounds like you don't smoke at all!"
Eridan felt the sweat pooling in his armpits. "W-whatever, I fuckin' take drags all the time."
"Oh reeeeeeeeally?" The girl grinned. "That probably explains this shitty cologne you're wearing."
Eridan pursed his lips indignantly. "It's not shitty, actually. You obviously don't have a fuckin' ounce a taste."
"Whatever, Eridipshit. How about you just hand over the goods and we can both stop engaging in this really bad excuse for a conversation."
"I…left them at my house."
"Ha, yeah right."
"I fuckin' did! Christ. Just let me go and I'll run back to get them for you."
"Whatever. You're probably lying, but I'm getting sick of talking to you anyway. Just know that I'll catch your stupid ass if you try to rip me off by sneaking back here." She shoved him away and he stumbled across the grass, hopping around a stray beer bottle. The girl's friends laughed and he glared back at them. Fucking assholes.
He jogged back across the street and into his house, pulling the door shut behind him. He quickly turned and peered out one of the windows in his living room, inspecting the tiny group across the street. The girl with the blue lipstick flashed him a dangerous grin before pointing two fingers first to her eyes and then towards Eridan. Eridan ducked down immediately.
Fuck.
As if he was going to let one crazy bitch spoil his chance to attend this party. He got onto his hands and knees and crawled towards the back door, which opened out behind his house. He crouched in the grass, pulling the door shut behind him before he scuttled to the corner of his house and carefully poked his head around it to peer across the street.
The girl was laughing with her circle of friends. That was good. She seemed suitably distracted. He looked out in front of him to the rickety wooden fence that surrounded his house on three sides. It wasn't very tall, and he had long legs. He pursed his lips as he inspected it.
Yeah, he could totally jump that.
He waited until the blue lipstick bitch was preoccupied with a bottle of beer before he took a running leap at the fence, grabbing the top of it and trying to vault himself over.
Like fucking Megaman.
Except usually Megaman made his jumps.
The fence groaned and snapped beneath his weight, the rusted wire that was holding the old posts together rattling and crumbling. In a shower of splinters and curses, he tumbled onto his next-door neighbor's lawn, eventually rolling to a stop on his back. He felt his heart beating painfully in his chest. He sucked in a few panicked breaths, putting a hand over his sternum as he waited for the frantic pounding to calm. He then sat up and patted himself down.
He had somehow managed to survive that fiasco.
He was such a pro.
He crawled on his hands and knees alongside the ruined fence and toward the road again. He gave a cautious peek into the yard across the street and saw that the crazy bitch had relocated. He could no longer pick her out in the yard.
Seizing the moment like a relay runner grabbing the fucking baton, he booked it back across the street, blazing through the trashed lawn and bursting through the front door.
The smell of smoke and sweat and alcohol assaulted his nostrils as the sticky heat of too many bodies lodged in too small of a space washed over him. A couple people shot him miffed looks as he pushed them aside so that he could properly push the door shut. He offered them a quick apology before leaping past them like a spooked gazelle. Just in case the toll girl was nearby.
He stepped out into the living room. It was hard to make out much about the space itself, as it was all blanketed by bodies. He was pretty sure there was a couch on the far wall, but so many people were sprawled on it that he couldn't be positive. In front of the maybe-couch was a tiny coffee table with a chipped finish, on top of which sat this…flask thing. That was the only word Eridan could use to describe it. One of the couch-dwellers, the tallest of the bunch, stretched out a long, tattooed arm and bent close to the coffee table, putting his lips on top of the flask thing and holding a lighter to a little arm-like projection near the base. He stayed in that position for a while before leaning back and giving a hoarse laugh, smoke spilling from his mouth and nostrils.
Okay, probably a drugs thing? That was cool. He knew about drugs. He was all over that shit.
Just maybe not tonight. Definitely some other time, though. Definitely.
Maybe.
He sidled casually away from the people-couch thing and found himself in a slightly more well-lit area. He blinked a few times before making out a refrigerator and a stove. The kitchen. He scooted around a few guys that were digging through the cupboards, laughing as they pulled out a bottle of clear liquid and proceeded to slop it everywhere as they tried to pour it into their red plastic cups.
Eridan found himself facing a metal folding table with a few folding chairs scattered around it. Only one person was occupying the table. A short boy who was staring down, his fingers gripping at his dark hair.
Eridan pulled up a chair and sat across from him. "Hey."
The boy didn't move.
"Oh, are you like, high or something? Just blink if you are, I mean, I am totally knowledgeable about dealin' with high people and I know they just like to sort of chill."
"What the fuck are you going on about?" The boy lifted his head, letting his arms flop onto the table. He peered at Eridan through sunken eyes and messy bangs. "Who the fuck are you?"
"Eridan. I actually just moved across the street today, like I'm sure you were wondering—"
"Okay, first of all, I wasn't. And second of all, Eridan, I'm not high. If I wanted to be sucking off that clown's bong on his little harem sofa of rainbow delights, I would be fucking doing that. Third of all, I don't want to talk to you. Like, probably ever. So bye."
Eridan frowned. But he wasn't about to be put off that easily.
"Look, I fuckin' scaled a fence to come here. Like…fuckin' Spiderman. It was actually pretty great and I'm sorry that you missed it. But what I'm basically sayin' is that I went through a lot a trouble to get to this party, so you could at least give me a name."
The boy sighed, putting his head on the table. "Karkat."
Eridan's eyebrows lifted. "Oh, Karkat? Some bitch on the front lawn told me that this was your place."
"It is. When high-ass hippy shithead best friends aren't seizing it to fucking stroke their huge party boners." His voice was muffled as he spoke into the table, but Eridan could still pick out his words.
"Okay, so why are you in here then? Do you not like parties or somethin'?"
"I might like parties if they didn't involve idiots fucking sticking their drunk asses in my shower and shitting everywhere."
"Oh, wow. Sounds pretty fuckin' disgusting."
"It is. By the way, don't go in the bathroom. Just like, fucking avoid that place entirely. Unless you have some weird sort of refuse fetish in which case knock yourself fucking silly."
"Nah, I'm not into that sort of thing."
The boy lifted his head and squinted at Eridan. "Yeah, you don't look like it. Don't smell like it either, for that matter. Jesus fuck, what did you do, fill up a tub with daisies and roll around in that shit for an hour?"
Eridan felt his cheeks get hot. "I'm not appreciatin' the slander I keep receivin' on account a my cologne. It's actually really expensive shit, if you want to know."
"Okay, well, a piece of advice for you then, buddy. Spend your money on something else next time." Karkat put his head back down on the table.
Eridan scowled and turned away. As he did, he saw someone else enter the kitchen. The newcomer immediately caught his eye. Mostly because he was wearing sunglasses despite how dim the lighting in the house was. Also because his scrawny frame was clothed in a stained white T-shirt and baggy grey sweatpants. He looked severely out of place amidst the other party-goers. He shuffled toward the fridge and pulled out a bottle of cranberry juice before turning back around to leave.
"Hey, dickass," Karkat's voice came from over Eridan's shoulder. "How about you stay out of the cave of computers and endless sorrow and crash with me at the table of ass-romping chuckles for a few minutes."
The skinny young man paused and looked back over his shoulder. When he spoke it was with a hoarse tone and a slight lisp. "Not interested, KK. Sorry."
"Come on, you dick-munching pile of shit," Karkat groaned. "I'll get you Chinese tomorrow or whatever. I just need a fucking break from all these assholes."
The young man stood frozen for a while before shuffling over and sitting down next to Eridan, twisting the cap off the jug of cranberry juice and drinking deeply from the container. He ran the back of his bony hand over his lips as Karkat put his head back down on the table. The three of them sat in silence for a long time before the newcomer capped his juice and slouched back in his chair.
"Boyfriend issues again?" he asked.
"He got all pissed up and started giggling with that blond shithead he's always hanging around with," Karkat grumbled into the table. "I don't even know why I fucking bother anymore."
"Then don't. Your moping is actually really irritating, KK."
"Yeah, okay, says Sollux: resident Lord of the Mopes," Karkat retorted, lifting his head.
The boy just looked at him for a while. He uncapped his juice again and took another swig. Karkat dropped his head back down. "Okay, forget I said that."
"Whatever. I really don't give a shit." Sollux replied.
Karkat sighed noisily. He then waved a hand at Eridan without lifting his head from the table. "This is Eridan. He just moved into that shithole across the street."
Sollux looked at him. Eridan fought the urge to recoil. It was a bit unnerving, staring into those dark shades and that expressionless line of a mouth.
Still, he raised a hand in meek greeting. "Hey."
Sollux did not fail to notice the rings adorning his fingers. "You some rich prick or something?" he asked before knocking back another swig of juice.
Eridan retracted his fingers into a fist and stuffed his hand under the table. He shrugged a shoulder. "If I was rich I'd probably be livin' in some suite or something. I'm actually an artist. Sort of a jack of all trades. I came out here to seek my muse. You know. Romantic shit and all that."
"Eheheheh, you've got to be kidding me," Sollux said, his thin lips pulled up in a sneer.
Eridan felt his cheeks color. "No, that's actually what I'm doin'."
"What are you, some fucking spoiled liberal arts college student?" Sollux asked pointedly. "With all the money and time in the world to burn away while you suck down weed and java?"
"I graduated last year with a bachelor's degree in microbiology, actually." He paused for just a moment before adding, "Dick."
Sollux shrugged a shoulder before getting to his feet. "I'm out of here, KK. Come talk to me later when you're more willing to unstick your forehead from the table."
He shuffled out of the kitchen. Eridan turned back to Karkat, his lips curled with indignation.
"What a fuckin' asshole," he seethed. "Like, who the hell does he even think he is, comin' to a party dressed like some kinda chewed up slob wearin' shades like an enigmatic jackass?"
"First of all, Sollux lives here, so no one's allowed to call him an asshole except me and Gamzee. If Gamzee was ever sober enough to realize that Sollux is an asshole, which he never is," Karkat said, lifting his head angrily from the table. "Second of all, he wears the sunglasses because he's blind in one eye, you ignorant fuck."
Eridan shrank back, his angry bravado disappearing to some place deep in his stomach where it got cold and sour. "Oh. Uh… I didn't mean—"
"That's right, you 'didn't mean,'" Karkat snapped before putting his head back on the table. "Why don't you fucking get a drink like everyone else and stop bothering me? I want to sit here and marinate in the juices of my own pathetic love life."
Eridan shuffled his feet together under his chair awkwardly. "You could talk to me about it if you want."
"Dude. I don't fucking know you. Do I need to take my ass to city hall and have them put the official stamp on a restraining order to make this more clear? Get the fuck away from me."
"All right, fuck. Just trying to introduce myself, Christ."
"Yeah, okay, well, you did that. Congratulations. Remind me to bake you a fucking cake with your name written out in rainbow icing to celebrate this monumental occasion."
Eridan stood angrily from the table and stalked away, making his way out of the kitchen and back into the thronging crowd in the living room. Their bodies swayed sluggishly to the pounding music, relaxed laughter swimming into his ears between each pulse of the bass. He shuffled around awkwardly for a little bit, wondering where he was supposed to find alcohol.
"Hey my brother. You look a little lost."
Eridan looked to his left and saw the long-limbed, tattooed man still sprawled on the couch amidst a blanket of other equally stretched out, relaxed-looking people. He grinned through a haze of smoke, his dark eyes just barely visible beneath a mop of shaggy hair.
"Can I help a motherfucker get his soul search on?" the man asked, his voice a lazy drawl.
"Like, does that involve drugs of any type?"
"Nah, bro. Involves what's all up in your heart coming out of your eyes and shit. Like, fuck man. 'Sbeautiful."
"I'm just lookin' for some beer or something."
"Yeah, I feel you," the man nodded, closing his eyes and bobbing his head to the pound of the music around him. For a moment Eridan thought that he'd forgotten about him before the guy lifted his lids a crack and patted the head of one of the girls sleeping on his lap. "Get this motherfucker a beer, yeah?"
She opened her eyes and lazily reached beneath the coffee table, pulling a beer out from beneath it. Eridan blinked in confusion before tilting his head down and looking beneath the table himself. Sitting there was a huge metal tub full of ice and beer bottles.
"Now you know where to come to seek the motherfuckin' bounty, my friend," Gamzee said lazily, pulling the bottle from the girl's hand and reaching his long arm across the table toward Eridan. Eridan took the beer hesitantly and twisted the cap off. He put the glass to his lips hesitantly before knocking back a swig.
He shuddered and screwed up his face. It tasted putrid. He quickly swallowed the carbonated piss before wiping his mouth.
The olive-skinned man on the couch gave a loud laugh that sound more like the honking of a sick goose than any noise a human would make. "Lookit this motherfucker all up and getting his disgust on. You ever tried that shit before, bro?"
Eridan scraped his tongue over his teeth in revulsion before replying, "A course I have."
More honking laughter. "It gets better as you go. Just keep swigging like you was drinking from the elixir of life and it was all getting into your heart and making your veins dance a little."
Eridan stared at him hesitantly before squeezing his eyes shut and taking another gulp. His world spun a little as he lowered his head and swallowed.
"See? Shit's nearly half gone already. You're a motherfuckin' natural," the man said.
"Yeah, I know. I do this sort of shit all the time," Eridan said, his voice sounding a bit loud to his ears. He knocked back another swig of beer.
"Yeah you do, brother. I fuckin' know it like I know my own self." The man laid his head back against the couch, closing his eyes.
Eridan grinned and sucked down the rest of the bottle's contents, letting the music pulse through his body, getting deeper and deeper inside him.