Tuesday:
It was still Tuesday, and Dirk was feeling like shit.
He kicked a can as he walked down the street, staring down at the sidewalk the entire time. He was completely lost right now, but he didn't care at all. He just needed to be away from Jane Crocker for a while.
Shit, he had really fucked up back there, hadn't he? He shouldn't have left like that. But she had seen his eyes. She would probably never see him the same way again. After all, who would want to talk to some loser with freak eyes?
His phone beeped. He ignored it. Probably just Dave, texting him to complain about the pesterchum prank. It could wait.
"Hey my motherfucker. How'd you like to be getting some knowledge all up in that motherfucking think pan of yours?"
A strange, lanky man stepped in out of nowhere, grinning at Dirk with a dozy look in his eyes. His face was covered in white makeup, and his pure black hair was a mess of twists and curls. It was him. The clown.
"What do you want?" Dirk asked, his hands curling into fists.
"Just thought I'd help a motherfucker out," The clown replied, his hands digging their way into the pockets of his polka-dotted pants. "Unless you already spotted those four who been all up and following you."
"Who?" Dirk asked.
"Those motherfuckers, that's who," The clown pointed to the other side of the street.
Dirk turned to find four men standing directly across the street from him, all of them staring as intently as they could manage. They were all wearing black suits and trench coats, which seemed odd, considering the weather. Of the four, that one that really caught Dirk's eye was the hunching, skinny one in the middle, the one with the wide-brimmed hat. Once he noticed Dirk staring, he growled and pulled a knife from one of his coat pockets. Dirk smiled and showed the guy what his middle finger looked like.
Next he pulled out his phone and dialed a number.
"This is Dave," His brother's voice chimed.
"Hey bro, it's Dirk. Just wanted to let you know that I'm about to get my ass kicked. Should be home by seven. Later." Dirk hung up before his bro could reply.
"Thanks, clown," He nodded to the clown, who was still gazing around distantly. "I owe you a bottle of faygo."
Then he turned and crossed the street.
Elsewhere:
"You're late."
The words sprung to greet Jane as she closed the front door to her house, freezing her in her tracks.
Her father sat in his favourite chair, one leg crossed over the other as he browsed through the day's newspaper. An unlit pipe sat rested in his mouth, and she knew he had no intention of using it. He had a calm and casual air to him today. Too calm and casual.
"Hi dad," Jane waved. "Sorry about that. Roxy was trying to pull me into some school drama again."
"School drama, huh?" Her dad's eyes didn't move from the newspaper as he talked. "I guess that explains why the school called to report your absence?"
"Oh, uh, that," Jane shifted nervously. "That was just a silly misunderstanding. The teacher forgot to mark me as present, see, and - "
"Jane. You know I won't stand for lies under my roof. Why were you away from school?"
"I wasn't!" Jane protested. "I told you!"
"Jane…"
"I didn't do anything! Just… Leave me alone!" Jane tore open the door and stormed out of the house, not looking back once.
Dirk:
"What are you lookin' at, kid?"
Dirk faced the man with the knife coldly, not at all fazed by the danger he or his crew might pose. "I'm looking at the four assholes who have been stalking me. What did you think?"
"You think you're some kind of wise guy, huh?" The knife guy snarled. "Well, we'll just have to show you what we think of wise guys. Won't we, fellas?"
"Yeah," The big guy on the left agreed.
"Hmph," A stylish, lean fellow to the right grumbled.
"Can I do my happy umbrella dance now?" Asked the last member of the crew, a pudgy little guy with a purple umbrella.
"Can it, Deuce," The knife guy spat before turning back to Dirk. "The point is, kid, we're gonna have some words with you. We were gonna wait until you got home, but we might as well do it now, since you approached us."
Dirk nodded. "Alright, lay it on me."
"We wanna know what ya know about the Crocker girl," The big guy cracked his knuckles as he spoke.
"Jane? I know what everyone knows about her. She's the heir to the Crocker fortune, she's in a lot of ads, and she bakes things. That's about it, guys. Sorry for wasting your time."
"I don't think you're being honest with us, kid," The knife guy took a step forward. "What do you really know?"
"I know that if you don't take a step back, I am seriously going to wreck your shit."
"Heh," The knife guy sneered. "Boxcars, he's all yours."
"Alright," The big guy said, the others all backing away to give him room. "But before I do this, I gotta know: Did ya kiss the girl, boy?"
"Did I kiss the - What? No," Dirk shook his head. "That's ridiculous."
"You should have said yes," The little guy - Dirk thought his name was Deuce or something - whispered.
"Oh," Dirk said, turning to the big guy. "You're going to beat the shit out of me now, aren't you?"
"Pretty much."
Dirk gulped. He shouldn't have left his sword at home.
Dave:
Dave was having a really shitty day.
It had started when his bro had turned down his rap idea, though that wasn't too bad. He was used to rejection by now. But then he had completely forgotten about his date with Harley, so he had grabbed his coat and ran off, ignoring the fact that it was way too fucking hot outside for a coat. And once he had managed to get himself to the nearest subway station, a collision shut down the lines for a whole fucking hour. Add that to the fact that the actual subway ride to get downtown took a good 45 minutes (it was a big city, after all), and it had been a long trip. Harley was going to be really disappointed.
Oh, and at one point John had called to tell him that Dirk had pulled some pranking shit on pesterchum or something, but that wasn't important.
At the moment he was finally making his way out of the subway station, walking onto the city streets. He had texted Dirk a few minutes ago, just to let him know that everything was alright, but his bro hadn't responded. Oh well. Anyway, Harley had said she would be waiting somewhere around here…
"Dave!" Jade jumped out of nowhere, tackling Dave into a hug.
He hugged her back. "Hey Harley. Sorry for being so late. The subway just doesn't respect cool kids like me."
"It's fine!" Jade beamed up at him, and he couldn't help but crack a smile at how perfect she looked in her blue t-shirt and skirt. "I was running a bit late anyways."
"Sweet," Dave replied. "Now, why don't we - "
Bring! That was his cell.
"Shit, it's probably my bro. Sorry Harley, gotta take this," Dave pulled out his phone and put it to his ear. "This is Dave."
"Hey bro, it's Dirk. Just wanted to let you know that I'm about to get my ass kicked. Should be home by seven. Later." The call ended.
"So who was it?" Jane asked eagerly as Dave put the phone away.
"My bro, like I thought," Dave answered. "Apparently he's about to get his ass kicked."
"Oh," Jade frowned. "Should we help him?"
"Nah. He's tougher than me, he'll be fine. Plus I have no idea where the fuck he is. He's probably just fucking around again."
Dirk:
Dirk was definitely not just fucking around again.
He didn't know why anyone would think that he was, actually. If they could see him, they'd know that he was in some serious trouble.
See, he had never been much of a hand-to-hand fighter. He could fight with a sword or a puppet, but give him an old-fashioned fist fight and he'd be done in a minute. Unfortunately, his opponent obviously didn't have the same problem.
Hearts Boxcars swung his fist forward, and Dirk just barely managed to duck out of the way in time. He wasn't so lucky with the next blow.
"You're in over your head, boy," Boxcar punched Dirk right in the face, rattling his entire world. "Should've just told us what ya know."
"I…" Dirk stumbled backwards, his head reeling from the strike. "I told you, I don't know anything. How hard is it to understand?"
"Not what ya need to say," Boxcars pulled back his hand, presumably for another hit.
Dirk laughed, wiping blood off his face with his arm. "Try me."
He glanced over to the guy with the knife. They were just a few feet away from each other, close enough for Dirk to breach the gap in seconds. Good.
Before Boxcars could do anything, Dirk was sprinting towards the knife guy (he seriously needed to figure out this person's name), knocking the knife from his hands and grabbing it before it could hit the ground.
"What are you - " The knife guy looked back and forth in confusion. "Oh, you little shit!"
"Yeah, fuck you too," Dirk turned back to Boxcars. "Hey, big guy! Catch!"
He tossed the knife, and the small weapon flew right into Boxcars' shoulder, making the giant man cry out in pain. That should help for the moment.
"Get back here!" The knife guy reached into his coat and pulled out… Another knife.
"Oh, c'mon," Dirk complained. "This is complete bullshit."
"Deal with it, kid," The guy with the knife began running forward, and Dirk braced himself.
That was when Boxcars decided to come back.
"Bad move, boy."
The giant man's fists slammed down onto the back of Dirk's head, blasting him into the sidewalk face-first.
"What now, kid?" The knife guy asked. "You gonna tell us what you know?"
"Holy shit!" Dirk pushed himself up, grunting from the pain of the attack. His shades were on the ground, but at this point he was too beaten to care. "I don't know a fucking thing, dumbass! How many times do I have to say it?"
There was a silent pause, with all the members of the strange group looking at each other in an attempt to figure out their next move. Eventually the knife guy spoke up.
"Alright, fine. You don't know anything. But we can't just let you go. You gotta make us a promise first."
"What?"
"You're gonna leave the girl alone. You got that?"
Dirk paused. He shouldn't agree to this, he knew it. But god damn it, he was tired and sore, stuck without a weapon or a friend, and he really didn't think he could take much more of this. He gave in.
"Fine!" He shouted. "I'll leave her alone! I'll never even fucking glance at her, okay? Are you happy now?"
He turned to go. The short guy with the umbrella tried to stop him, but he shoved the annoying little asshole to the side and left, some kind of liquid welling up in his eyes. No, those weren't tears. They definitely weren't tears. Dirk Strider never cried. It simply wasn't a thing that happened.
Jane:
Jane ran down the street, not paying any attention to where she was going. She didn't care about her destination. She was too angry to care, really. Angry at her dad, angry at Dirk, angry at herself. She was really just pissed off at everyone.
It was still hot outside, and the warm air clung to her flesh as she ran. She was mostly alone now, except for one other guy who was walking on the opposite side of the street. Good. She didn't need any extra human interaction.
Wait, was that guy on the other side of the street limping? It looked like it. She should probably go help him out.
"Excuse me!" She crossed the street as she called out to the limping guy. "Are you okay?"
"Crocker?"
Jane stopped. Oh god, it was him. She hadn't recognized him at first, probably because he wasn't wearing those pointed shades of his, but it was him. Dirk Strider.
He looked terrible. His face was covered with bruises, his left eye looked swollen, and blood was pouring from his nose. She was surprised that he was even able to stand, let alone walk.
"Dirk?" She rushed over to him as quickly as she could. "What happened to you?"
"Nothing," Dirk spat, lightly pushing her away. "Just... Leave me alone, okay?"
"Don't push me away like that," Jane pleaded. "Dirk, tell me what happened."
"Nothing happened!" Dirk whirled around as he screamed at her. "Nothing fucking happened, Crocker. Just fuck off, will you? I don't need you giving me shit like this."
"What?" Jane asked, taking a step back. "Dirk, what are you saying?"
"I'm…" Dirk looked down at the ground. "I'm saying that I don't want to see you again. Ever."
"Dirk, you don't mean that," Jane said. "Did someone make you do this?"
"No," Dirk replied bitterly. "This is my fucking choice, and I'll live with it. Now go home to your perfect house with your perfect, like the spoiled brat you are. Go home and leave me alone."
With that, he turned and hobbled away, leaving Jane alone in the all-too-warm night.