Blues - Chapter Three

Your name is Dave Strider, and man, are you ever glad that day is over. Maybe all your coworkers are talking anuses that need to be plugged, but you’re quite certain your customer base is probably a perfect example of why some people shouldn’t be allowed to breed. Within your first five minutes, you saw a man yell at Jade about a hard drive, a woman chew out Karkat for muttering ‘shit’ when he closed the cash drawer on his finger (which frankly you’re impressed he didn’t scream it, given his vulgarity away from customers) and one kid call John an inept shit. You especially didn’t like that last kid, though you’re not sure why.

Nevertheless, with air conditioning drying your eyes out as you drive down the inner city highway, you can’t help but remark to yourself that the kid really did get under your skin, and that’s quite the accomplishment, given the fact that you are, as mentioned previously, Dave fucking Strider. You’re not a cool kid, you’re the cool kid.

John seems like a nice enough guy, and you thinks it’s shit that he got shit on like that. Moreover, he just took it! You think that annoys you more; John needs to stand up to himself, and by the looks of those bags under his eyes and how he seems to be perpetually packing energy drinks, he needs to stand up to his dick boss, whom you have never even met.

According to Jade, the elusive Eridan Ampora, aka your General Manager, doesn’t actually come into the store as much as he used to ever since John transferred in from Washington. You wonder why anyone would be stupid enough to leave Washington for Texas, but these things happen.

You abruptly feel your phone vibrate in your pocket, on the shitty little display in your car, you can see that Jade is calling you. Why did you even give her your number? Clearly it was a lapse in otherwise sound judgement, but it would be rude not to answer, and a Strider is always a ladies man, if ironically for both living Striders. Pressing the pickup button on your car’s stereo, the rustling of something in the background reverberates: “Dave’s crematorium, you kill ‘em, I’ll grill ‘em,” you speak casually, an elbow propped up against the window as you drive with one hand. You cool kid, you.

“Very funny, Dave,” Jade says, laughing on the other end. Things become awkwardly quiet, but you allow her to collect her thoughts before speaking again; she tends to get a bit sidetracked, and that’s probably why her fingers are covered in those lame reminder pieces of string. “Oh, right!” She says abruptly, and you nod to yourself, “John asked me to call you to give you your schedule, lemme just find it here…”

Evidently she’s lost your schedule, and you chuckle faintly to yourself. She’s a nice girl, and you wonder why she puts up with people like Karkat and their customers, and so you speak up: “While you find it, tell me why you work at Best Buy, Jade.” Your question comes out more like a statement, but you decide to not correct yourself: that would be admitting a mistake and would consequently give her leverage in the conversation.

If there’s one thing Bro’s ever taught you, it’s that you should never allow the person you’re speaking with to have any unwanted leverage on you. Sometimes if you lead them into making a clever jab at you, you can cleverly respond and put yourself all the higher, but being more a reclusive fellow, you rarely opt for Bro’s more overt tactics of social discourse. “Well, it’s simple, really!” Jade responds after giving the question a ‘hm’ of thought, “John and I have been friends forever, and I worry about him; his dad’s really sick and he worries about the ol’ guy all the time. He’d be all alone at work if I left…” She trails off, sounding sad.

You frown; you enjoy having conversational leverage, but not making a sweet girl like Jade feel bad. Deciding to lighten the mood, you decide bringing up the grumpy Vantas will help immensely; “What about Karkat? He and John seem to be on casual enough terms. He wouldn’t be all alone,” though as you say it you know that the little angry fellow is pretty piss poor emotional support.

“Karkat means well,” you snort at her comment, and she tuts sharply, “Hey now! He has his moments. He just… gets a bit fired up… all the time. But most of the time he’s not very good at saying nice things when people need to hear them. When John and Vriska broke up, he told John that “at least he could go gay, since the most insufferable bulge sniffer dumped him.” Poor John was practically in hysterics.” He feel a sudden heaviness in your chest; a constricting tightness that seems to drag at your heart. John had a girlfriend?

Trying to push it away, you continue talking, “You might have a point, Karkat is an angry little fucker. I don’t mean to pry here, Harley, but what’s wrong with John’s dad?” You can practically picture the little nerd sitting next to some equally nerdy guy in a bed. You bet they like to prank one another, and the mental image is both painfully lame and very sweet.

Wait. It’s not sweet.

Things are not sweet to Striders.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind me saying, just don’t gossip about it! I don’t need to hear the new guy who gets to wear shades inside is a big ol’ clucking hen!” You agree to her stipulation, silently imagining a chicken with your badass shades on. You decide to call this cool clucker you’ve imagined Jeff after your former internet comic character. Jade continues her story as your imagery culminates and is stored for ironic purposes in the near future, “John’s dad has failing kidneys; apparently it’s something that runs in the family. He’s on a waiting list for replacements, but you know how this stuff is… The kidney dialysis is super expensive, and so John works extra hours all the time to afford it. His cousin Jane does the same, since she was raised by his dad.”

You nod to yourself, finding John’s noble sacrifice of free time to be a noble one; it almost brings a tear to your eye, yo. “What a stand up guy, that Egbert,” you say calmly, and Jade quickly agrees, “I get the feeling that he doesn’t normally act how he acts at work. He seems so restrained at the store, you feel me?” You can feel your weird, casual lingo starting to slip out, and Jade seems to enjoy it, so you ignore your misgivings.

“He’s nothing like how he acts at work! Before his dad got sick he was this big, bubbly, softy who watched movies like Conair all the time and nerded out with Karkat, myself and the others constantly – oh, I found your schedule! Your next shift is tomorrow at 9:00 am. Sorry Dave, but I gotta go, my break is almost over.” Her words speed up the longer she speaks and you can only smirk at her energetic mannerisms. She reminds you of Jake a little, but les… British. You decide the fact that she’s a bearable version of the Englishman whom you’ve grown to fear seeing in your brother’s bed is a good thing, since you’ll never have to see her eerily toned ass –

You’re going to stop there, before you scar yourself.

~*~

You can hear movement from inside your apartment as you go to put your key into the lock. You can’t hear any voices, but you can hear what appears to be the clanging of cookware. Bro doesn’t cook, and Rose would never make such a clamor if she had come over before you had returned… Oh no. You slam the key into the lock, almost breaking it in half as you turn the lock, before throwing the door open, keys dangling from the lock. Sprinting down the short hallway, you round the corner to find a man facing away from you.

He’s wearing an absurdly short and tight pair of shorts which reach, at best, the middle of his thighs, twin empty holsters on his hips, and an untucked green plaid shirt, likely with a black tank top underneath. His black hair sticks up wildly and you point at him, practically screaming: “Put the muffin tin down, English!”

He jumps slightly, abruptly dropping the cookware and turning to face you, his hands raised in the air. Vivid green eyes look at you, shocked and hurt, and his mouth is a thin line of worry as he observes you. You can see why your brother is so enamoured with the fellow, and if not for his ridiculous personality and the fact that he’s about six years older than you, you’d definitely see what was hiding in those booty shorts.

But today is not a day to wonder what hides beneath the short cotton trousers of Jake English; instead it is a day to protect the safety of the apartment complex from his accidental wrath. “The last time you baked something my microwave caught fire and forbade you from the kitchen!” You step forward, your voice still raised, though it only seems to hurt his feelings further.

You can feel your convictions crumble a bit as his eyes widen into the nefarious puppy dog eyes he throws at Bro when he wants something, but you hold your ground, “Well blimey, Dave…” he begins, lowering his hands to his pockets and looking away, “… I’m sorry.” His words are pitiful and you can feel yourself biting your lip. Damn him for being so innocent! Why was he with a perverted smuppet loving freak like your brother, anyways?

“Eugh,” you grumble, picking up the dropped tin and placing it on the counter, “It’s okay, English,” you pat him on the shoulder once as he looks over at you, practically on the verge of tears. He’s always been a crier; when he destroyed your microwave, you had shouted at him for a good five minutes. Afterward, he had broken down in wracking sobs on the floor. You had felt terrible for a weak; both for hurting the idiot’s feelings and for the horrific ass kicking Bro gave you for making his fiancé cry.

As if on cue, you feel the little hairs on the back of your neck stand up, a cool chill runs down your spine, and you can feel something soft and plush being pushed against your neck… A smuppet ass. “Are you being rude to Jake?” The bassy, dangerous voice of Dirk Strider rumbles into your right ear. You abruptly step back from the counter, finding your brother perched on it like some horrific bird from hell.

Donning a white collared shirt and a pair of ridiculous triangular shades, he stares at you with his hidden gaze, though you can tell he’s seconds away from having you crumpled onto the floor, groaning in pain. “Mister Strider, play nice with your little brother!” English scolds as he walks over, affectionately rubbing Bro’s cheek roughly, “He was just concerned for the safety of your flat.”

Bro cocks his head at you, and you stare back, though you know he knows you’re scared. Any sane man would be scared of him; he’s pretty buff and is faster than anyone could imagine. Moreover, he’s always packing smuppet heat and that shitty anime sword. Even now it’s strapped to his back, ready for a strife. He vaults himself into the air and lands between you two, never ceasing his stare off with you: “Good. It’d be a shame if you had stop baking because Dave needed to go to the hospital,” He grins at you darkly, and you merely flip him off.

Dirk plants a kiss on Jake’s temple, and the latter flushes, still embarrassed at the former’s displays of affection in front of family. You’re a little weirded out, but you’ve grown so accustomed to seeing these two together that it’s stopped majorly affecting you for a while now. Unsheathing the aforementioned shitty anime katana, Bro removes himself from the conversation as he polishes the blade, and Jake takes the advantage to speak again: “So tell me Dave, how was your first day of work?”

You’re both glad and annoyed he asked; you’d like to bitch and whine about your life, but Bro would shower you in smuppets and explicit pony porn in the middle of the night if you don’t act like a Strider. “It’s aight, I guess. Customers are total assholes who need to be told where to stick it, but some of my coworkers seem like alright people. There’s this one girl, Jade; looks like a total nerd, but seems cool.” Your last comment seems to greatly interest your future brother in law, and the tanned Englishman blinks, his expressive visage surprised.

“Well I’ll be buggered!” He swears… At least you think that’s a swear; you’re not sure why he speaks like this; he was raised by his grandma on an island with his cousin – oh damn it. “Jade Harley? Big glasses, black hair? She’s my cousin!” Bro is smirking, and you know he knew ever since he went in to stalk your work before you started, “We should have her over, I’ll make muffins for her!”

Bro places a hand on Jake’s forearm, shaking his head, though remains silently. The Englishman grins, embarrassed once more, and nods; “Maybe when Dave’s more adjusted to his job, yeah.” Looking back to you, his wide eyes still full of wonder, he asks another question: “Anyone else you work with that I’d know? I feel so popular!” He puffs up his chest, grinning like a madman. Sometimes you really hate living with these two.

You shrug, leaning against the opposite counter from Bro, careful to avoid smuppet range, and look out the far window in the living room; “Karkat? He seems to be a friend of Jade’s.” English only gives a perplexed stare before shaking his head, “Figured as much; kid’s too angry to be someone you’d remember,” continuing you move onto the other notable person you met today: “Well there’s Jade’s friend and our manager; John.” You almost scream a profanity as his face lights up with recognition, before falling into a more resigned visage.

He nods once, “I met him once; nice chap, but he wasn’t really himself. Jade said the poor bloke’s dad was sick and he was just told his kidneys were failing…”Once more, the ever emotionally compelled Jake seems to be on the verge of tears, however Bro is abruptly there, his large hand caressing the Englishman’s face and drawing him into a kiss.

At that point, you’re thoroughly disgusted and uncomfortable, so after offering a few disgruntled profanities at their lack of decency, you retreat down the hall across from the kitchen and enter your room, locking the door behind you after you close it. “My my, David, I didn’t know you felt like that. But frankly you’ll have to take me on at least five dates before we get that far,” a sophisticated, feminine voice sounds behind you, and once more your skin crawls.

Turning around, you find Rose seated in your desk chair, one leg crossed over another with her hands delicately folded in her lap. She wore a knee length black pencil skirt and a violet blouse. Her light blonde hair was done up in her typical style; well preened and quaffed. Overall, she looked the part of a world class psychologist, and with her piercing gaze, she seemed to know everything about a person with one look.

You silently wonder to yourself how she has any clients when she looks so damned intimidating to everyone but you, but decide to reply to her nonsense first: “The day we shack up is the day we all start playing some game which causes the end of the world.” Looking around your room, you admire the mess Rose has no doubt been resisting the urge to clean, and as you finish your observations, you offer her a devious smirk.

“Wouldn’t that be something?” She says, equally amused. For all the arguing you two do, you know she’s likely your best friend, and you’ll grudgingly admit that without her, Bro, Dirk and a few others, you probably would have ended it all after your life was turned upside down. You two can hear the slam of a door nearby, and you visibly cringe, “Those two certainly are… affectionate,” she says as she retrieves an elegant teacup from your desk, sipping lightly.

You stare at the piece of fine china for a moment, “Where did you even get that? I know for a fact that shit doesn’t even fit Bro’s fucked up sense of irony.” She only shrugs, delighting in denying you your answers; she’s always been like that, and it’s always been frustrating. “… You brought it from home, didn’t you? You went to all the trouble to bring a teacup with you, on a bus, a train, and then another bus, just to set up this image?” You snort derisively after she nods, “Only you, Lalonde… Only you.”

“Indeed; only me. But my affinity for tea is one of the things Kanaya so admires in me. Therefore I shall not be ceasing my tea drinking anytime soon.” Placing the teacup on your desk again, she stares at one of the many jars sitting on a shelf above the cluttered table. Thereupon the shelf sat a myriad of jars, all filled with preservative and with small, floating beings inside, “The things I could draw from that… Regardless, I heard you made friends with Jake’s cousin. I’d very much like to speak with her sometime, perhaps I’ll find her on Pesterchum. But that’s not why I’ve come, I’ve come to see how you’re doing, David.”

“So it’s Tentacle Therapy, then?” She merely nods, and you take a seat on the edge of your bed. Part of you greatly appreciates such an esteemed psychologist like Lalonde taking time out of her day to offer you free therapy, but another much larger part of you feels weak and pathetic and for appreciating it. Striders don’t need outlets to bitch about their problems to; they master and solve those problems.

Frankly, you haven’t been doing a lot of problem solving lately, and it’s starting to grate on you. You’re starting to feel like that kind of has been who just whines about how great his life was before whatever happened, and that thought scares you. Taking a breath, you reach up to remove your shades, and place your slender fingers on the armbands of your beloved eyewear before slowly removing them from your face.

The brightness of your room causes you to squint, however you grow accustomed to it and refocus your now bare gaze on Rose. She smiles ever so slightly at the display of your crimson eyes, and you begin: “Well, it’s like this: I feel like, ever since my empire came crashing down, I’ve just been slowly dying…”

~*~

Following a rich and fully awful session with the tentacle therapist herself, you decide that life is too long and you need to shorten it greatly by drinking a great deal of high fructose corn syrup based drinks while consuming carbohydrate and calorie rich spheres containing caramelised sugar. That is to say, you’re at 7-11 and you’re buying pop and junk food.

Rose thinks what caused your mental lull as of late is you not working in your own field, and you’re inclined to agree. You’re probably agreeing with her because she’s a psychologist, though… Nevertheless, you make a mental note to stop being a pussy and mix something in the next few days. But what? The possibilities are endless…

As you stand in line, contemplating the fineries of your now ignored masterpieces and how to improve upon them for a grand comeback, your mental ministrations are rudely interrupted by an angry little fellow with an inferiority complex: “Hey you taint sniffing fuck, either pay or move!” You know that voice, if only barely.

You slowly turn around, and find Karkat Vantas standing behind you. Since when was he here? Why did he not say hello? What a dick, though you suppose that you two have only worked together once so far. Still, out of workplace niceties are vital. At least you think so; you’ve never had a real job before. Looking down at the angry little man, you have a large urge to ruffle his hair, but with soda in one hand and candy in the other, you’re out of hands to demean your co-worker with. “Karkitty, what’re you doing here? Don’t tell me you’re already lusting after my fine ass after one shift,” you resist a smirk, even though you were damned funny; the beauty of the Strider visage is in the façade of emotionlessness.

“For your information, you bulge licking ass enthusiast, I live five blocks away from here,” he snorts derisively as he side steps you and places his foodstuffs on the counter and removes a credit card from his jeans pocket. You casually saunter up next to him, placing your own things on the counter, and watch him from behind your shades. Sure, it may be nighttime, but it’s never a good idea to go walking around with freakish red eyes; it tends to unnerve passersby. As he finishes paying, he turns to stare at you and, upon you not acknowledging his demanding stare, blurts out: “What!?”

You yourself begin paying for your own things, the cashier seeming to be thoroughly enjoying your banter with your new co-worker, and you decide that you aren’t nearly done making his night worse. Your day was terrible, so why not make someone else’s night worse, because that’s how these things work. Letting the cashier keep your change is a commonality when you shop, and today is no exception, so naturally you and Karkat have likely become his new work story for at least a week.

However your angry acquaintance is already leaving, though with a few long strides, you’ve caught up and, with a bag of unhealthy goodies in one hand, you sling your arm around his shoulders, however you have to stoop over a fair deal to do so. He shirks himself away from you; “Hands off, Strider! Don’t want your contagious disease of fuck-ass to spread to me,” as he removes himself from you, you can’t help but detect an earthy aroma on his grey hoodie.

“Karkat Vantas, I never would have guessed,” you lift a melodramatic hand to cover your mouth, and feign a look of horror, though it mostly comes off as a handsome dude covering his expressionless, agape mouth with a hand. Upon Karkat’s look of confusion and overlaying displeasure with you, you elaborate: “I know that smell on you, bro. Someone as angry as you should be dialed down by weed, not riled the fuck up so badly Gordon Ramsey’s telling them to cool their shit!”

Your mentally high five yourself for a Ramsey burn done successfully, and given the deep frown that’s now creased Karkat’s forehead, you think you’ve done a bang-up job all around. Karkat steps forward once and turns around, forcing you to stop abruptly, your ‘grocery bag,’ such as it can be considered, swinging forward and consequently backward rather sharply. “What I do in my free time is no business of yours, fuckass!”

You’re really beginning to believe the workplace stories of Karkat’s vulgarity don’t even scratch the surface, but given the strange people you met in your DJing travels, you’re not really put off. In fact, you think it makes him all the more entertaining: “I’m not judging you, Karkitty, calm your shit,” you say, patting him on the head as you have done many times since you met him, “All I’m saying is a good co-worker would share with his new broworker.”

His eyes widen for a moment before narrowing again, “I’m not wasting my stuff on some douchebag like you,” he says with new fury in his voice, but something in what he said seems to bug you more than you expected, and without really realising it, you’ve dropped your shopping bag, and you’ve got your arm around his neck from behind, holding him in the air. Karkat gasps, looking back at you, his eyes wide with panic.

You cock your head at his fear; why would he be afraid? You wouldn’t actually hurt him, you’re not some weird fuck like Jake’s grandfather who exploded butterflies with a blunderbuss to pass the time… That being said, you bet that Jake would do the same, given the opportunity. The English-Harley family was a strange, strange beast. “Let me go, you insufferable dick!” Karkat barks as he squirms against your arm, however you’re not letting go quite yet. Continuing onward in the direction he had been originally walking, you find his resistance to be futile.

“I’ll let you go the minute you agree to share,” you say smoothly, and given the fact that Karkat is losing his ability to support himself enough to not be choked, you know you’ve already won this battle: no one says no to a Strider. He looks back at you and nods, and with that, you release him, and he falls to his knees, coughing.

You offer a hand to help him up, but he swats it away, “You douche!” He says hoarsely, “I should call the cops, not share my weed with you!” You keep your hand extended, and after he regains his breath, he reluctantly takes it, and you help him to his feet. You choked him a little without meaning to, but in your defense you’re not used to tussling with such a small opponent.

Regardless of what he said, he continues forward, offering a rough ‘c’mon,’ and you two continue toward his house after you both collect your discarded purchases. “So Karkitty, why do you work at that shithole Best Buy?” You ask after he falls silent for a while, and upon hearing your question, he looks back at you, his expressively angry features now also confused. He has a very confusing face, you decide.

Turning forward, he stuffs his hands into his hoodie, which you passively note has what appears to be a sideways 69, though connected at the ends, on both the front and the back. That seems strangely sexual, and looks suspiciously like handcuffs. You’re sure that has absolutely no double meaning, though. “Eh, Jade, John and I go way back. We all joined at the same time, but then Egbert got all shitty and started climbing that corporate ladder ,” he says, the anger replaced by a saddened bitterness.

Deciding to not be a terrible person, you ignore the flurry of jokes and snide comments that come to mind and instead say the one thing that Karkat might not be angry at hearing: “That’s pretty shitty, bro. You and him were close, back in the sepia-toned day?” He shoots you a look for your tiny degrading of his fond memories, and you only shrug.

Karkat turns at the end of the block you’re currently on, and you’re surprised that you’ve never actually run into the little bugger before; he lives six blocks away from you in total. Evidently inclined to share a story or two, the little man in front of you begins his story: “Egbert and I went to the same junior high and high school, though he’s known Jade way longer. Anyways, we had a class or two together and the nerdy shit sniffer corrects my answer when I’m called on in class, so naturally I start screaming obscenities at him. He looked terrified, which was great, don’t get me wrong, but our teacher was a giant bitch and decided to punish us both.”

Reaching a six story apartment complex you’ve seen many times on your outings, Karkat unlocks the lobby door with a code on the nearby access panel and the door buzzes. Pushing it open, he quickly steps under your arm and leaves you to let yourself in. He’s kind of a dick, and you’re hoping he has good stuff to help you unwind. “We spent lunch period being bitched at for stupid shit, and afterward John was so pissed he looked like he was about to cry. It was pathetic, I tell you, but it turns out Sollux, who was waiting for me, also knew Egbert, so the three of us skip our next class to get some lunch, and the rest is history.”

You can’t help but notice how oddly happy Karkat seems at the memory of hanging out with John, and you can’t help but wonder what the tired looking operations manager has that makes him so redeemable for being a corporate sellout. Frankly, you’re getting curious, and so you decide to be a bit of a badass wildcard: “Hey, Karkitty, you got John’s phone number?” You ask, and receive a confused nod, “Awesome. Call him up and let’s get him here, Jade too. We’ll have ourselves a little exploratory party.” You’re grinning, and you can see a dark smirk growing on Karkat’s face. Oh yes, you just found an excellent partner in crime to make John Egbert open up to a bit of Dave Strider style therapy.