Neckties and the Art of Getting Kicked Out of Galleries

Author's Note: Wow, the time sure does get away from you. Even for those of us with very few obligations, something as trivial as school is enough to delay story writing for weeks at a time, so if you were waiting, I'm sorry about that. As always, message me if you'd be interested in being a Beta reader, I can always use a second pair of eyes. Read and Review!

By:

Theta Waves

Chapter 3

3rd and Baldwin…

You're picking her up on the corner of 3rd and Baldwin.

On any other Saturday you'd probably, no, definitely be still in bed, doubtlessly in pajamas and watching "Sleepless in Trolleatle" on your husktop for the forty-eighth time. But today was like no other day, no, today was special. So special, you think you might puke your guts out on the sidewalk and all over your shoes from all this pure excitement. Today is the fateful day you're to be perusing the local snooty art gallery with Jade Harley.

After yesterday's frivolities at Rose's, you and Jade parted ways outside the apartment door, with her writing an address down on your hand and telling you to be there at 3:00. You stammered and told her she better not forget, before going in for a completely business-like handshake. A handshake, Karkat? Auspicious start, indeed.

At least I don't have to wear a tie, you reflect; you've decided a white button up and slacks (again) was classy enough for a gallery, and suitable to impress Jade. Who are you kidding… You spent the previous night devouring two quarts of human ice cream while having an out loud panic attack to Sollux. Less to Sollux, and really just out loud to yourself. The day you take Sollux's romantic advice is the day the ocean is replaced with flip-flops. Your frenzy of Cherry Garcia rambling got so loud at one point that the neighbors stopped by to tell you to shut the hell up. But they're assholes anyway. It ended with your roommate telling you what an absolute baby you were being, and that, as a "grown-ass troll" you can handle one afternoon just fine. He more or less forcibly put you to sleep afterwards.

At least the weathers fine. Hell, the weathers just dandy: slight breeze parting the summer blaze. As you approach the address scrawled on your hand (and it was a small comfort that you could still feel her cool fingers around your wrist), something seems wrong. The place that you confirm to be the corner of 3rd and Baldwin as you study a street sign looks like no apartment building you've ever seen. It's a squat, brick building, two stories with great wide windows and a hell of a playground. Two things that should, but don't, usually find themselves at apartment complexes.

You're actually a bit early, and so approach the chain-link fence and study the unoccupied recreation zone. Just a square plot of pavement thirty feet to a side that cuts into where the building should be, creating a corner sheltered by the safety of the chain partition which you presently are holding with your fingertips. The sound that chain fences make when they're so much as brushed, that rattle of alloy and mesh, has never failed to unsettle you. Pretty standard stuff, really, swings, a sandbox, four square, hop-scotch… You can't help but snicker at the plastic boxes of sidewalk chalk that lie, often spilled over, on the blacktop. Terezi would have jumped the fence in a heartbeat. But what you really like is the mural.

Covering the vast majority of the brick construct holding the playground in check, in paints and brushstrokes, is the depiction of swirling patterns, images and scenes. It's the same kind of subject matter as most murals found in city school: children of every creed and colour all getting along wonderfully and revitalizing your faith in the strength of the human spirit; Flora and Fauna of Earth mingling in with the children in a delightful community with green grass and rolling hills extending seamlessly into the azure sky. The skill level jumps between that of toddlers and the confident fine-motor skills of an adult who you assume to be their teacher. On one end, a colour pattern twirls and tumbles across the brick, and on another, strokes concentrate to form the shape of a very familiar barkbeast which causes your heart to jump into your throat for a moment. A few moments, actually.

How in the hell…

And then you can see why.

Through one of the windows that interrupt the wall, children in their infinite snot-nosedness sit at tiny table, dabbing their little sausage fingers into paints and glues and blocks. Crouching by one to help one of them, with raven hair spilling over her shoulders, forcing you to reel in shock, and more or less stunning you, is Jade Harley, the teacher.

You're not really sure why you're so surprised, she must've mentioned it before. That and the fact that it suits her perfectly. You can't imagine that any non-sociopathic child could ever do a thing against her will. She was exactly the kind of spirit that loved what she did, and in a very human way, it spread to those she touched. Doubtless, those little rats were pleasant, doted on their beautiful teacher, and hung off of her every word. Karkat, get a hold of yourself. Somehow, you still manage to look as if the window had begun talking to you, probably it would say, "Hey, my eyes are up here, you misogynist prick. The nerve of some people…"

You begin moving to the door to go inside, but think better of it. For just a moment, you'd like to be here. Right here, looking in at her from the outside. Perfect in her perfect lime green dress and cardigan. With her perfect smile that put the mural to shame. Right now, you don't have to be Karkat. You don't have to be angry, because you're a stranger, nameless and faceless. Maybe that's why you rather like the city. Nobody knows you who you don't want to know you. If you want to stand at the sidewalk and stare at a gorgeous creature, then by god, you could.

You probably look dopey right now, but who cares. For just a minute or two in your life, in your mind, things were alright. Serene.

Before she caught you looking, that is.

Doubtless she felt the weight of your lovey-dovey gaze, and glanced up…

And grey meets green.

So you scowl at her. She raises a finger, as if telling you to wait just a moment, gives a parting word to the child she was helping, and disappears from view of the window.

Now you're just dumbfounded.

And in a moment the door up the stoop to your left opens, and Jade leans out waving at you. On the way here, you tried to psyche yourself up, telling yourself that you could handle seeing her, and when it got down to it, you could rely on yourself not to be a gaping moron. Well, you were horribly wrong, because Jade in all her loveliness is here just twenty feet from you and the synapses in your brain fail. Another piece of damning evidence against past-Karkat. You stuff your hands in your pockets and walk to the door, taking your sweet time about it. Only when you're standing in the doorframe with her, possibly having an aneurism, do you speak after a mutual pause.

"You Teach" Are the only words you have.

"Well," she shrugs and looks away momentarily, "I try." She has her nose wrinkled up in a smile again.

"You try?"

"You can lead a hoofbeast to water, Karkat, but short of dunking his head underwater, you can't make him drink."

"Ah, the profound wisdom of Jade Harley. Wish I'd brought a notebook." Nailed it.

She rolls her eyes and appears to conclude the friendly banter.

"You're a bit early, you eager beaver you, and so the kids won't be out of here for another ten minutes. You can wait in my classroom if you like."

You motion your arm down the hall,

"Lead the way." She leads the way.

"Well I for one can't wait to meet the little shits—oof!"

'Oof' denotes the elbow below your ribs: A sharp elbow that most likely belongs to Jade. You hold your middle and hunch, turning your head to see her still as bright and smiley as ever.

"Karkat, if you use so much as an ounce of that language around my kids in there, I'll sock you so hard in the mouth that the tooth fairy will leave government bonds under your pillow."

"Tooth fairy? How high is that on the echeladder?"

"Glad we understand each other."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
There is a popular theory floating about that it is virtually impossible to retain one's dignity in one of those silly tiny plastic toddler chairs that bend when you so much as shift your weight.

You can testify to the validity of this, sitting knees to chest in one such chair, shins against the edge of a chipped plastic table in a brightly coloured and densely decorated room that smells slightly of paint as most kindergartens do.

When Jade led you to the classroom she assured you that the kids would be friendly and wonderful and would melt your heart in a manner similar to Ebola. You hoped this to be true, and in a perfectly rom-comesque way, the kids would fall in love with you and Jade would be instantly swooning over kid-friendly Karkat. The kids would hold up signs that would spell out your marriage proposal, she would scream her answer into the heavens, and both of you would smooch into the sunset forever more.

What actually transpired was Jade's introduction of "her good if somewhat rude friend Karkat" followed by blank stares, uncomfortable shifting in chairs, and a pencil thrown in your direction. Kids have good aim nowadays

You turned, giving Jade an almost pleading look. She buried her face in her hand, and led you to your current seat in between two of the little monsters at the previously mentioned table, as Jade made rounds assisting with colouring, and making preparations for the end of the school day.

Hell, she even saw fit to give you a sheet of paper and some crayons, though your drawings have yet to amount to much.

"Hey, mister."

Your quiet contemplation is interrupted when you discover you're being accosted by a chubby youngster desperately trying to give you his drawing, likely for peer review.

"Uh, I… do you need something?"

"The red crayon."

"Huh?"

He jabs a pudgy finger to your left and repeats himself.

"Uh, oh! Yeah sure, here." He wordlessly enclosed the bit of coloured wax in his hand and continued to scribble into the parchment.

Oh shit, you needed the red crayon. Damn.

"Hey, Kahkah?" This new pronunciation of your name perturbs you, but to each his own.

"Y-yes?"

"You're Miss Hawley's grumpy friend, right?" Another new pronunciation…

"Grumpy friend? That's what she said?"

"Mmm-hmm. She said you were grumpy and kind of loud."

"Oh. And?"

"And what?"

"Did she say anything else?"

"Well, she had a dog once and-"

"About me, you little blu- I mean you precious angel. What about me has she said?"

He looks you up and down as if assessing you for a very long moment.

"Nope. Not really."

You drop your jaw a bit. This doesn't immediately register as good or bad news.

You sigh and thank him anyway. Again you begin soul searching, among other things.

"She said you're sweet."

"What?" This last part was a little loud, but it was a shocking development. You lean in a little closer to him. "Are you kidding, kid?"

"No. She said that. But I0 don't see it." Cheeky little guy. You put on an expression of impressed astonishment and rest your jaw on your hand. The kid, as said before, is chubby, a toddler, has a mushroom cut (a punishable offense in your opinion), kind of beady dark eyes, and a striped polo shirt.

"Can I look at your drawing, kid?"

With a slide of paper across plastic, you now find yourself in possession of fine art, the subject of which was indiscernible. To this day, that fact still haunts you. You'll find yourself on a train and wondering just what it was. You'll be waiting in the doctor's office and trying to decode the shroud of colour. Picking up your prescription for athlete's foot which you never tell anyone about ever, and wracking your brain as to what it could have been. Never does it leave your mind at peace; always will it pull at your consciousness, stabbing at the back of your eyelids. Or so you expect. At this point you figure it was one of three things, the three being (1) a dinosaur in a dunce cap, (2) a Polaroid at the bottom of the sea, or (3) the greatest masterpiece Jackson Pollock never made. All in all a 6 out of 10.

You pass it back to him, nod appreciatively and remark, "It's pretty bitchin'" You honestly don't know why you chose the term 'bitchin.' You didn't mean to swear, and it's not even a swear word that you're particularly fond of. You just didn't want to talk down to the little Picasso. You gave him an honest, respectful review. Plus, you're pretty certain nobody heard so you're in the clear.

He grins as he takes the paper back into his paws, even wrinkling it a little.

"Yeah… bitchin'"

That could be a problem. You run a hand through your hair.

"Kids!"

All heads, yours included, snap up to the front of the room. There Jade stands bright and all smiles and all incredible in all of the ways that it is possible to be and some impossible ways. Quantum incredibility. In the most endearing goddamn way possible, holds her hands together down at her front to announce the end of the day, how their parents were all waiting to bring them home, and how she would miss them all very much. She really looked to mean that last part too...

Mushroom Cut puts the now stubby red crayon back in your hand before scrambling out the door, assumingly to his loving parents. In mere moments the place is empty, accepting for you and Jade. The only evidence of those children is the fact that not a single goddamn one of them apparently knows how to push a chair in.

"Aren't they just the most adorable little things, Karkat?" Jade is either deathly serious or teasing you. No middle ground at the moment. From the glassy eyed look that would otherwise have you unconscious, your guess is the former.

"Yeah, just delightful. I've probably contracted ludicrous amounts of diseases from those rodents."

"You can't fool me Karkat," she says as she begins pushing chairs back in, "I saw how chummy you were getting with Bradley. You love those kids to Karkat, admit it. You're like their big brother, you just want to shoosh pap every single one of them, don't you?"

"Piss off. Bradley, that's his name? I referred to him as 'Mushroom cut' in my head. Tragedy really."

"I adore Bradley. I'd adopt him and his chubby little cheeks if I could." She's starry eyed and grinning.

"So what's stopping you?"

She looks at you like the idiot you are before answering:

"The fact that he has parents."

"Right those. I find that they do generally oppose having their charges adopted right out from under them. But he might be better off with you if his parents let him have that haircut."

"It's so great that you can always find the worst in people, Karkat."

"Well, even with all my skill it isn't flawless. Take you for instance. The worst I can find in you is that you make the people surrounding you as happy with themselves as you…"

And then you sort of trailed off because why the hell would you say that!? You didn't even mean to say it; it just sort of slipped out. Your eyes snap wide open and you nearly fling the chair you were pushing in when you realized the magnitude of idiocy you just spewed from your grubloaf tube. That was so creepy too; I wouldn't be surprised if she bashed your head in and called the cops.

Instead, after an eternity-moment of intense silence, she crosses the minefield of a classroom, silently smiles a warm reassurance, and brushes your hand, ever so lightly, with hers.

She doesn't say anything. Neither do you. You're too nervous and flushed in both respects to even look at her. You feel her eyes on you just the same. As kind and gentle as the gaze is, it does nothing to ease you. Finally you decide to just look at her face.

Smiles are really all in the eyes. Next smile you see, or even in a mirror, focus on the eyes. The mouth muscles involved in smiling are useless; you'll find all of the beauty in her/his/its eyes. They can also be a hot knife too. Like blown glass, the eyes can tell you most everything you need to know.

The only word you can really think of to describe her face is radiant, insofar as her face literally radiates… radiates… there's no word for it. Compassion? Humanity? Depth? Love? You're really hoping on love.

Oh hell, you idiot, you admit to yourself, you're in love with her.

She's just looking at you, into you, waiting for you to be comfortable with being looked into, or even looking back. You shut your eyes for two long seconds hoping that you'll be home when you open them. You even click your heels for good measure. But no, still green eyes. Disappointing at first, and then sparks bloom around your heart. She's getting ready to speak. You'd listen to her talk until you died.

"You ready to see some goddamn art?"

"What?"

With that answer of grace, a Jade whirlwind sweeps you by the arm out of the classroom…

…And into the maelstrom.