Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Morning ritual.

The mirror of the bathroom is fogged up with the heat and moisture of Calliope's recent shower. The bathroom is uncomfortably humid; Calliope frowns and flicks on the fan, which begins whirring noisily within the bathroom wall.

The young woman grabs a washcloth in her tight fist and drags it against the foggy mirror, over and over, until a clear circle is left in the middle. In this circle, Calliope sees herself.

Green, green the color of the underside of moss and just as ugly. A green claw drags itself against the ridge of an unnaturally sharp cheek. Fangs pull awkwardly at a bottom lip. Eyebrow ridges jut out from a forehead. A nose sits in the middle of it all, pushed up wrongly.

Calliope closes her eyes and thinks. Her face looks both anorexic and bloated in proportion; the hollows beneath her high, wrong cheekbones scream 'starving', but the swell of her forehead is almost neanderthalish in its berth. Her cheekbones are marred by spiraled birthmarks of a lime green color.

Her eyes remain closed and she feels the smoothness of her eyelids rest. No tickling of eyelashes against her cheek- Calliope opens her eyes and stares at her strange visage in the mirror. The dome of her head is smooth, as always.

Claws run absently against a jawline. I could get surgery to shave me cheekbones down, she thinks. Nose job and shaving down again for the ridges of her eyebrows- there are no eyebrows there, of course, but where they would be...as for the hair issue, there are always wigs.

Calliope closes her eyes again and lets the whir of the fan wash away her thoughts. She could be pretty. The Doctor she lives with says that she needs to wait just a few more years, until she's twenty one. She can wait. Sh-

"Are you done putting on your shitty makeup yet?"

Calliope jolts and turns around. Her brother, his entirely intimidating six foot self, is leering at her from the doorway. His eyes glow unnaturally red, and Calliope takes comfort in the knowledge that there's at least one person uglier than her in the world. His body mirrors her own, but his features are somehow made worse by his inner cruelty.

Calliope swallows, and when she manages to speak her voice is as pitiably light as usual, with its strange, near-British lilt. "I- can go- if I need to be somewhe-"

Her brother's mouth twists into a fanged snarl. Calliope never goes anywhere and she knows it. She is unimportant to Scratch's plans at present, and the only reason she's still alive is because she's one of only two Cherubs in existence. She's aware of this fact as she watches her brother stare at her. If it were up to her brother, she would be dead- of this she is sure.

"I. Have to use. The bathroom." Her brother is speaking as if she's an idiot and a familiar anger fills her.

"Ugh! You have your own- just- I'm-" Calliope's anger sputters out as her brother leans from the doorway and shoves past her to get to the bathroom countertop. His claws skim the marble, making an insect like skittering noise. Calliope breathes and doesn't bother turning around to watch her brother. A sharp shoulder bumps against her and her brother is once again in front of her.

"Where. Are my cufflinks?" Red eyes are once against glaring down at her.

Something sinks in the pit of Calliope's stomach. If her brother's dressing up, then he's probably going to a Felt meeting, and a Felt meeting is bad news. Doc Scratch, the siblings' semi-guardian, was positioning her brother to succeed him in ruling the Felt mob, Calliope was sure of it. And anything that made her brother more powerful was bad news.

"Where are you going?" Her brother ignores the question and shoves past his sister to bend and peer beneath a cabinet. "Brother..." Claws pull at a knob and spill out cosmetic supplies. "Caliborn!"

Red eyes and pressure on her wrist and a pull and Calliope's against the wall of the bathroom. "Don't- call me. That." Her brother presses his arm against her chin and pushes up; her head's against the wall, right cheek
shoves against the awful golden wallpaper of the bathroom. Calliope is reminded of a long-forgotten friend who had said she'd thought gold a tacky color. Class, the girl had explained to a you g Calliope, wasn't about flaunting your wealth, but using what you have to complement yourself.

The throbbing on her neck builds and Calliope kicks out. Her brother falls back, and Calliope notes with pride that she's gotten his pressed slacks a bit dirty with her damp foot. "Sorry," her voice wavers. "Should I call you Lord English?"

And that's it. Her brother snaps and swings a fist at her. A quick dodge leaves a hole in the wall. Calliope closes her eyes and tries not to smile as the air crackles and Doc Scratch appears.

The bald-headed man tsks mildly and turns to Caliborn. "The third hole this month. I think that's a bit impolite. I give you a home and you destroy it?"

Doc Scratch's voice is as calm as always, but something deadly crackles beneath it. Calliope embarrassedly reaches behind the Doctor and grabs her cosmetics bag from the cabinet.

"I'm sorry," she babbles. Politeness and apologies, she's learned, at the best tools to deal with Scratch. "He was holding me against the wall- elbow to my throat- kicked hi-"

Scratch fixes her with a blank gaze. His gaze is always void, but this doesn't cease disturbing Calliope every time she sees his white eyes. "Don't fret, miss Calliope. We will discuss that later. You are dismissed."

A wooden cane appears at Caliborn's throat. "You, on the other hand..."

Calliope shuts the bathroom door behind her and clutches her bag to her chest. From the shut door she can hear Caliborn's anger and Scratch's calm. "Didn't break it that much..." A quiet voice, something about impoliteness. "Ate the dumbass Noir's shit candy. No." and more mumbled fragments.

Her dark green feet pad across her bedroom carpet and propel her into the hallway. The mansion she lives in is large, and it's a fairly long walk to the middle wing of the mansion. Her free hand knocks at the bathroom door.

The door open and smoke wafts out. A figure's standing in the room, a cigarette in its hand. Its eyes are hooded, lips a seductive rust red, skin a dusky gray. And it is wearing a dress with a slit up to the hip.

"Oh! Dreadfully sorry, Damara-"

Damara leans forward, ram's horns coming uncomfortably close to Calliope's face. The woman mutters a few unintelligent Japanese words before Calliope catches 'Ca-ree."

Calliope smiles awkwardly and pulls her cosmetics bag closer to her. "Oh, it's- uh-"

Calliope hears something and peers around the woman, only to spot a nameless troll lying in the tub naked. With a squeak she bolts.

The hallway carpets flash beneath her feet. She finally comes to a stop in front of her bedroom. Voices still drift from he bathroom.

Calliope sighs. Today might have to be a no make up day.

--

Chapter Text

Dave Strider is tired of this shit.

When the 18-year-old blonde goes to his kitchen to fetch some good old fashioned apple juice, he trips over a pile of muppets. When Dave pushes himself off the dirty linoleum floor and rises up, he sees the lights placed strategically around said muppet pile and makes an unmanly sound. His brother's...filming, again.

From Dave's left a hand manifests and grabs out. Dave dodges and the latex-gloved hand grabs a puppet. Pointed, dark sunglasses flash in front of Dave's eyes and soon the boy is face to face with his elder brother.

"Dirk," Dave says, bored. Dirk scoffs and maneuvers around Dave, bending and setting up the skewed puppets yet again. Dirk's hair is blonde like his brother's, but instead of being smoothly combed back, Dirk's hair is fluffed up into almost a birdlike style.

As Dave stares down at the crown of his brother's head, something stirs inside his mind. "Bonus ironic points for the creepy gloves, Dirk. You are the creepy porn master. It is you."

Dirk manages to keep a straight face as he gathers the large, plush puppets into his arms. A white shirt with an orange hat emblem bunches up beneath a pair of black jeans- Dirk's typical attire. "Bro emailed me and asked me to keep up his shoots for him."

Dave imperceptibly frowns. Bro- their eldest sibling- has been gone for over a week and a half, now. He's usually back by now. As Dave looks down at the lights and tripod on the kitchen floor, he can't help but feel a little creeped out. Bro's 'shoots' involve sex puppets doing pornographic things to each other, and though Dave understands that Bro doesn't want to start losing traffic on his 'shoot' website for lack of videos, Dave doesn't think it should fall to Dirk to take up the job. Maybe Bro could, oh, do the shit himself. And not run off to god knows where for weeks at a time.

Dirk's on the floor placing the puppets back down in meticulous order and pushing a camera towards a plush rump. Dave is reminded strangely of his own intended career path- filmmaking- and cringes inwardly while keeping cool on the outside.

"Don't you have robotics stuff to do?" Dave asks, leaning against a cluttered kitchen countertop. Dirk's an engineering student- this summer is the one before his fourth year in college, and Dirk's been using his summer free time to construct various projects.

Dirk shakes his head, and though the elder Strider's eyebrows don't move above his mirrored shades, nor do his lips purse, Dave can sense irritation. Dirk clicks a camera and flashes his hands quickly, tapping the camera a few more times. "I do. I have a lot of 'robotics stuff'. But Bro has me on puppet porn duty." Dirk looks up and turns his pale face to Dave. "I think it's about time I pass down the gauntlet to you, little bro. After all, you're eighteen now. Bro probably'd let you help him out with his vids."

Dave shudders and steps away, brushing against the countertop in his retreat. Dave doesn't want to, but even if he did, Bro probably wouldn't let him. Not to protect him or anything; Bro just was weird about his puppets, and Dirk and Bro had always been closer than Dave and Bro. At times, uncomfortably close.

"I'll pass, Dirk," he says, shooting the puppets a final look before casting a hopeful gaze towards the fridge. "You know if we got any AJ?"

Dirk's facing towards the makeshift puppet set again. "I need to go to the store soon. I'll pick some up."

Dave nods and steps out of the kitchen, feet flashing across the wooden hallway and around various objects. Dave very nearly steps on an upturned blade when he approaches his bedroom. With deftness the teen manages to dodge a foot-stabbing and step inside his room. His hand grabs out to a cool metal knob, and a wooden door shuts quietly behind him.

Dave's bedroom is messy, but still considerably neater the the rest of the house. Posters of movies and quotes line the walls. A katana sits in a case suspended above a race car bed. Dave gives an approving nod to the bed. Very ironic.

On the laptop's desk sits an opened acceptance letter to the University of Southern California, and Dave feels something pang in his stomach. A recent memory surfaces.

---
eB: holy cow dave!!!
eB: i got into berkeley!
eB: dave i am the winner it is me
eB: they're even giving me a grant!!!
tG: whoa what
eB: yeah! :B it's too bad you're all the way in texas and going to UT. i always thought we would room together in college!
tG: uh
tG: well we arent about to be sharing facilities and bunkin together
tG: but
tG: shit
eB: oh my god dave. did UT reject you?!?
tG: no its just
tG: im going to USC
eB:
eB:
eB: OH MY GOD DAVE THAT IS GREAT!
tG: what caps lock bro this is getting really crazy
tG: good job egderp on getting into berkeley
tG: knew you could do it your a total champ
eB: dave we'll both be in california!
tG: what
tG: i thought USC was in kansas
tG: shit
eB: haha, dave, very funny :P
eB: but dude! we could actually meet up on the weekends!
eB: i could finally see your gooby face!
eB: me and jade and rose want to know so bad, dave! are you secretly orlando bloom in person?
eB: we could go to weird coffee shops and laugh at the people that wear argyle and aviators! well, everyone besides you.
eB: you just wear the aviators though.
eB: but, uh, you probably knew that.
---

Dave stares at the acceptance letter.

---
tG: yeah
tG: itll be great
tG: riffing on all the movies
eB: oh my god we could go to sundance!
eB: wait no doesn't it have those weird foreign movies?
tG: john you pleb sundance is in utah
tG: and sundance is too mainstream anyways

---

Dave walks over to the desk and sits down heavily in his chair. His Pesterchum says John's online, but Dave can't bring himself to click on the blue 'ectoBiologist' button. All Dave can think about is what will happen when John finally meets Dave, when John finds out who he is. When John finds out that Dave's an orphan- worst cliche there is, the orphaned protagonist, Dave thinks. Worse, when John finds out Dave's guardian makes puppet porn. Or worst, if John meets Dave and realizes he's not like what he is on the Internet. He's not cool or collected. He's nothing.

Dave clicks on the public hangout button and looks under 'new'. The first title's in lime green- it reads 'uranianUmbra's chat room'. Default title for hangout. Default means new or inexperienced user. As Dave scrolls over the chat a list of users pops up- only uranianUmbra is in the chat. Maybe trolling this guy will cheer Dave up a little.

---
uu: wow! i didn't think anyone woUld join my hangoUt!
tG: 13/f/Cali
uu: i'm dreadfUlly sorry but i'm not quite sUre what yoU're saying...
tG: a/s/l
tG: how old are you
tG: what bits do you got
tG: where is your domicile
uu: yoU don't soUnd like a 13 year old girl, miss. or shoUld i say...mister!

---

Dave rolls his eyes. This is lame. Not like that time when he'd trolled the cat girl role player on a hang out. He'd spent two hours typing in commands for a Yu-Gi-Oh duel between a cat and a dog. Ironically, of course.

Dave's RP name had been 'barkura'. The girl's, 'meowrik'.

---

uu: but i'll play along with yoUr silly game.
uu: 18/f/NYC!
tG: okay i lied
tG: im 18/m/TX
uu: U_U of course yoU are! what part of texas?
tG: pfft you could be a predator i aint tellin you jack
tG: for all i know your name means underaged underwear
uu: what!!! u///u
uu: why would yoU even say that! yoU can see it's uranianUmbra!
uu: i named myself after one of my most favoUrite things- Uranus' orbit!
tG: pfft
uu: what?
tG: Uranus' orbit
tG: really
uu: what?!
tG: nothing
tG: just
tG: uranus' strange pull
uu: oh yes! it's quite fascinating!
uu: thoUgh it's not just a pUll but also a pUsh, in a way!
tG: yes
tG: uranus can do both
uu: precisely!

---

Dave's mouth quirks up.

---

tG: so

tG: come here often

---

Chapter Text

wednesday

Night falls, the sun rises, and Calliope wakes up in her bed well rested. She remembers yesterday.

---

tG: come here often
uU: :U no! i've actUally never Used this chat client before...

---

Her green foot presses against the plush of the carpet and she scrapes a hand against her crusted eyes. Her eyes widen in shock as she looks at the numbers on her clock: it is 11:00. Calliope's never slept in before.

She rises unsteadily from her bed and rushes out into the hallway. Her quick steps turn left, then right, then lead her straight into the den.

To her relief the Doctor and her brother are nowhere to be seen. Calliope guesses they've been gone all night and into the day. This is good- Doctor Scratch is a stickler for being punctual, and if he'd discovered that Calliope had slept through breakfast (which is typically an affair involving both the Doctor, herself, her brother and Damara), he would've been extremely displeased.

Grateful for her unexpected break, Calliope returns to her bedroom. She's still wearing the clothes she had on yesterday- she'd stayed up into the night talking to turntechGodhead (well, into the night for her- she goes to bed at nine, usually, and the conversation had ended at midnight) and she hadn't bothered to put on pajamas. She heads for the shower, feeling strangely happy.

---

Cards slap together in a haphazard shuffle. A billiards table snaps with the sound of balls being struck. Smoke wafts in the dark room, leaving trails of gray against a black background. Foggy light fixtures embedded in the ceiling lend the only light to the club; all of the windows are blacked out.

"Conducting business so early is, I'm afraid, not typical of me. However, we have a pressing issue to discuss..."

Doc Scratch leans back in his leather chair and stares at the people sitting around his lengthy oak table. Behind him, the club has various ranks of gangsters playing games and betting.

Doc Scratch stands up and turns backwards, resting his hands carefully on the top of his seat. The gangsters continue. "Excuse me," he says.

Shuffled cards. Laughter and clinking bottles- at eleven in the morning, really. Tapping of shoes.

The Doctor quite calmly takes his cane and strikes it against a wooden beam nearby. "Quiet!" he shouts.

The gangsters stop and stare at him. An already-struck billiards ball rolls noisily on the pool table. A short man embarrassedly snaps up the ball in his hand and mouths an apology.

"All of you need to leave," he says calmly. The exit door creaks open seemingly of its own accord. The gangsters, in a confused daze, file out, one after another, until the room is completely emptied. The door shuts quietly behind them.

Doctor Scratch, satisfied, turns back to his entourage and gives a little smile before sitting down. The young man next to him is reclining in a seat that perfectly matches Scratch's own. His legs are clad in slacks, but they've been pinned to above his knees somehow, and his thick, green legs stick out from beneath them. Red suspenders bunch up a collar around his neck. His eyes are red and leering.

Across the duo, several people sit. A man with a bored expression pulls his fedora over his face. Beside him, a man with a scarred face and lime green suit grimaces. A woman in a blue trimmed dress pares her nails.

Doc Scratch draws a bag of black licorice from his pocket. The candies seem to be in the shape of dogs. "Would you like a piece?" he asks the man in the hat.

The man's face immediately turns sour. "Thank you," he says, flatly, "but I only like Swedish fish."

Scratch shrugs and leans back. "We're gathered here to discuss some recent events that have transpired- most pressingly, the matter of a group of people calling themselves-"

Scratch pauses and looks to the man next to him. "But before I get too ahead of myself- I've brought along Caliborn. You're all to make yourselves known to him."

The man in the fedora crosses his legs and speaks.

---

A dark gray man with a scarred band of tissue across one eye scowls at another man.

The other man's got strangely gray-tinted skin and bright yellow clothes, and a judicial wig that- well, that looks as if it's made out of bullets. He's waving his hands around wildly. A pale woman with a pastel-blue scarf wrapped around her neck has her face in her hands, exasperated. To the side a troll woman in teal-and-red pantsuit is smiling sharply.

"You're telling me that the Felt is experiencing a switch in leadership and you think I can bring them down during the transition."

The man in the bullet-wig nods excitedly. The darker, scarred man behind him scowls roughly and leans back in his seat.

"And what exactly motivated you to come to us? You, mister... Renegade, you have an established grudge against the Felt. But you two. A mail woman and a gangster."

The woman looks at the pale woman and the scarred man and raises one dark eyebrow above her pointed red glasses.

The pale woman looks up with shiny black eyes and the troll woman listens closely. "I went," she begins, "to deliver a package to a man named Die. And when I arrived, the members of the gang were openly discussing a plan to assassinate the Mayor."

The pale woman's voice is deliberately calm, though gentle. The scarred man's head lifts toward her. "Peregrine," he says, voice gravelly. Peregrine's eyes narrow and she clasps her hands together.

"And you?" the troll woman asks, gaze sharp on the darker man. "You are, after all, Jack Noir."

"The Doc's appointed a dumbass to lead the Felt after him, number one. And I hate Scratch anyways, he's a feckin' two face. So, why not take the opportunity for a backstabbin'."

The man flicks a knife in his hand. The troll woman grins, fangs flashing bright.

"It should be a challenge, at the very least." A red-gloved hand reaches out from the woman's teal-and-red suitsleeve and pats at her short, black hair. Her horns poke out from beneath the strands.

"My ass is on the line here, Redglare. Scratch might be an annoying pissant but he's no dumbass. He'll know I ratted him out soon enough. So- work fast." Noir stands up from his chair and spins his knives in his hands almost anxiously.

"In the past, you've seemed to handle Scratch well. But if Scratch is smart enough to figure out who tipped me off, he's smart enough to realize the only person not-Felt who was at that Felt meeting was a little mail lady." Redglare nods and Jack grimaces.

Peregrine looks at the floor, worried. Her curly white, short cropped hair is all that's visible; her face is completely downturned.

Redglare tugs at her collar as she walks towards the exit of the room. "I'm of a mind myself that Scratch set it up that way. He knew the little mail lady was connected to the Mayor somehow-" at that, Peregrine squeaks a little- "and that she'd come running to someone not connected with our wonderfully corrupt police department. " Noir gives a little nod at this, still standing with his arms crossed.

"Perhaps a troll department. Perhaps a legislacerator. I don't know why Scratch would set it up- but he must have. He's not careless enough to let someone overhear plans on accident. Maybe he's got another plan in the works and this Mayor sham is an attempt to get us off the right trail."

Redglare, from behind her glasses, examines her nails. "But Scratch doesn't know that you've defected, Noir. You're our spade in the cave."

Noir grimaces. "Ace in the hole," he says.

Redglare cackles wildly. "Not in troll cards, it's not. Heeheehee. Well, you're a secret, Noir. And I need you to keep goin to Felt meetings and acting like yourself while I...investigate. Alright?"

Jack Noir rubs a hand across his ruined, darkened face and nods. "Fine. Can I get out now?"

Redglare smiles and opens the door, gesturing grandly for him to exit. He does, scowling all the while; the bullet-wigged Renegade does too. When Peregrine leaves, she pauses.

"Thank you for coming, miss Redglare," Peregrine says quietly. Redglare grins wickedly and places a claw tipped hand on the woman's back.

"I owed a favor to Noir. He saved my niece's flushcrush, once. So it's not like I'm running a pro-bono deal, here." Redglare ushers Peregrine out of the door and walks out behind her, shutting the door. "Besides, I've wanted to get the Felt for a ve-ry long time."

Peregrine nods and pulls the blue scarf closer to her neck. On her left hand, a ring winks.

---

By the time dinner rolls around, Caliborn and Scratch still aren't back, and Calliope decides to cook. She walks into the kitchen and Damara's standing at the stove.

Calliope bites her bottom lip with a fang and watches as Damara pulls a pot full of brownish noodles off the stove. "Oh, wow, Damara," Calliope says, discreetly examining the mounds of food. "This looks wonderful!"

Damara says something unintelligible and shoves a plate into Calliope's hands. The cherub smiles politely and heads towards the grandiose dining room table.

The plate has the noodles, grubs cooked in some sort of sauce, and some kind of biscuit. Calliope lowers the plate to the table with a quiet 'clink', and sits in a high backed, wooden chair. Her fork spears into a grub and she bites,

Blurgh. Calliope's always hated the texture of grubs, rubbery and taut and...juicy, but the taste is good. She scoops up noodles with her fork and eats.

Damara, standing at the oven, looks pleased and reaches for a bottle. She moves towards the table and offers the bottle to Calliope expectantly.

The liquid is the color of Calliope's eyes. Sopor. Damara doesn't imbibe of the stuff, Calliope's made the woman Eastern-style tea too many times for her to like it, but Damara always seems to have a bottle on hand for any potential junkie guests. Just as there are wine racks and scotch racks in the Scratch household, there are bottles of sopor for the shadier trolls who come.

Calliope shakes her head and puts her hands up. "No, thank you," she says. Damara nods, pulling out a cup of steaming brown liquid. Calliope nods and grabs the cup gratefully.

Damara eventually sits and the two have a comfortable, if quiet, dinner. Of course, it's not perfect- Damara, who is sitting next to Calliope, either doesn't understand she cannot sit legs-spread in a dress or doesn't care. There's also the fact that the 'biscuit' is actually some sort of unknown troll delicacy which tastes like bottom.

But it's still better than usual. And so, when Calliope logs on to Pesterchum that night, she's in a good mood.

---
uU: hi! last night yoU said yoUr name was dave, correct?
uU: well, i know i told yoU my name was calliope, bUt it woUld be lovely if you called me callie!
uU: all of my friends call me that :U

This is sort of a lie. Calliope doesn't really have friends in real life. But, Calliope posts stories on the Internet, under her pseudonym- Callieohpeee. So her reviewers call her Callie. And her reviewers are kind of her only friends.

Oh jeez. She's depressing herself again. Calliope shakes it off and keeps typing, smiling.

uU: ...dave?
tG: sorry
tG: was busy
tG: sup how was your day
uU: nothing :U it was good!
uU: better than Usual, actUally! my brother was gone, that was good.
tG: ooh sibling rivalry
tG: is he older or younger
uU: yoUnger!
uU: ...by two minutes. ^U^
tG: you guys dont get along
uU: not at all. he's just so rUde and hUrtfUl.
uU: and my adoptive father
uU: well, i gUess he doesn't like him more than me, but he certainly thinks him more capable.
uU: does that make sense?
tG: yup
tG: i got two older brothers myself
uU: wow! do you like them?
tG: eh dirks the younger-elder
tG: hes okay he does engineering
tG: i mean hes repressed and a hermit and i think hes got a robot fetish
tG: but besides that hes cool
uU: a robot fetish...?
tG: yes well when an unfeeling metal shell and a reclusive texan love eachother very much
uU: ack!!! i know what it means, silly!!! i jUst was saying.
tG: yeah
uU: what aboUt yoUr other brother?
tG: bros like late twenties
tG: hes a dick
uU: :U why do yoU say that?
tG: hes irresponsible and shit and thinks owning shitty swords is cool
tG: i mean
tG: it is cool
tG: but not when your almost thirty
tG: also he has a puppet fetish
uU: omg no way!

---

Calliope has no way of knowing this, but in Texas, Dave is wondering if honesty is the best policy after all, and is also wondering why he can tell a complete Internet stranger things he can't tell John, a not-so-complete Internet stranger.

---

uU: dave my brother sleeps with this pUppet every night and i swear he keeps it in his coat like all the time!!!
tG: what
uU: yes!!!
tG: callie we are so in sync
tG: whats your favorite color
uU: definitely lime!!!
tG: whoa mines orange
tG: they both have es in them
tG: quick how many eyes do you have
tG: two
tG: me too
uU: yoU're so silly! :P
tG: heh
uU: oUr creepy relatives have unwittingly given Us a bonding moment!
uU: i say this deserves a toast!
uU: *callie lifts her cUp to her monitor and clinks it against the screen!* tG: hella yes
tG: dave grabs a cup of straight up liquor and just smashes it against his cpu
tG: tequila drips everywhere
tG: beyond the smell of booze is the smell of friendship
uU: •U•

---

Chapter Text

thursday
---

uU (at 11:47 am) posted on tg and uus joint hangout homes getting all domestic up in this for real we are homies the tightest of all homies me and uu yup and this is our hangout:

uU: dave i feel like this title is Unnecessarily long.
tG: no it is not
tG: how else will people know this is our mutual friendship hangout and not trespass on our turf
tG: if we dont straight up tell em in our title
uU: yoU coUld set the hangoUt to private?
tG: what
tG: no
tG: thats lame
uU: heeheehee! whatever yoU say, dave :U
tG: thank you
tG: now for our first order of business
tG: we will do the traditional public hangout ceremony
uU: wow! whats that!
tG: well it is where the founding members of a hangout make their hangout sacred
uU: Um, okay! if yoU say so...
tG: we can customize our hangout
tG: what do you want the background to be
uU: backgroUnd?
uU: how aboUt a picture of a princess?
tG: yes this is good
tG: okay just sent you a link
uU: what!!! why is rapUnzel's skirt pUlled above her hips!
tG: no pantyshots k i can work with that
tG: how about his one
uU: aw, she's cUte!
tG: awesome cool
tG: okay since you decorated the chat background
tG: i get to customize the emoticons
uU: okay!
tG: done
uU: dave?
tG: what
uU: Um, i think there was an error with yoUr emoticon Upload!
tG: why do you think that
uU: the only ones i'm seeing are horse heads :U
tG: yes
uU: what?
tG: those are all that i have made available
---
Calliope looks down at her laptop screen and grins.
---
tG: the only emotion allowed in our hangout is
tG: 'horsey'
tG: or maybe
tG: 'neigh'
uU: neigh isnt an emotion silly!
tG: 'neighish'
tG: 'neighing'
uU: 'neighboUrly' ^U^
tG: urk no puns
tG: please
uU: oh snot!
tG: whoa didnt mean to upset you callie
tG: if you wanna make puns
tG: well
tG: i guess i cant stop you as cofounder of the hangout
uU: no its not that!
tG: what
uU: my brother has retUrned.
tG: oh
tG: oh.
uU: he's probably going to come looking for me to harass me rather soon! i jUst heard the door slam a bit ago.
tG: sorry callie
uU: what?
uU: why apologize? it's not yoUr fault! ^U^
tG: oh not apologizing about that
tG: that sucks though
tG: i actually just heard my bro dirk yellin for me
tG: 'dave please help'
tG: 'these groceries are heavy'
tG: 'heavy as balls dave'
tG: so i gotta go too
tG: sorry for bailing
uU: no that works oUt good i gUess.
uU: see yoU later! :U
tG: im trying to make that face
tG: i look
tG: horsey
uU: heehee
uranianUmbra has logged off!
turntechGodhead has logged off!

---

"Dirk?" Dave calls from his room. A muffled reply sounds from in the kitchen.

When Dave enters the kitchen there are plastic bags laden with food sitting on every available surface. Dirk's standing in the middle of it all, looking incredibly pale.

"...Dirk?"

"Bro's not coming home," Dirk says, leaning down to the bags. His hands shake as they wrap around a bag full of vegetables. His foot creaks open the fridge.

Dave blinks behind his shades and leans down to grab a bag, examining Dirk's jerking hands from a short distance. When Dave asks, "Why not?" he manages to sound calm.

"He- he told me he got a big request from a rich customer."

----
timaeusTestifiedsr (tTs) at 7:30 pm ?/??/????

tTs: How the fuck did you find my account.
??: IT WAS EASY.
??: YOu KNOW YOu'RE ONE OF MY FAVORITE PEOPLE. TO PLAY WITH.
tTs: You're a creepy little shit, dude. You trolled my old account. I made a new one. You won. So leave me alone.
??: I FOuND YOuR VIDEOS, STRIDER.

----

Dave swings a bag of frozen pizzas onto a cluttered counter and watches as Dirk shows off all of his lying tells. "It's fine, though. I mean, it's just another job."

----
tTs: So what? You've seen something thousands of other people have.
??: IT'S VERY. *DISGuSTING*.
tTs: Thank you.
??: MY FRIEND ISN'T HAPPY WITH YOu.
??: HE SAYS HE GAVE YOU A JOB AND YOu FAILED IT.
tTs: On a scale of zero to ten, ten being the 'least sense',
tTs: You are making Charlie Sheen.
tTs: But seriously, what the hell are you getting at.
??: HE ASKED YOU TO GET IN TOuCH. WITH YOUR OLD FRIEND. A GIRL NAMED. *JANE*.
??: AND BRING HER TO HIM.
tTs: I don't give a shit about what that dude wanted. I'm not kidnapping a kid just because she's the heir to Crockercorp.
??: WE'RE GOING TO COME FOR YOu.
tTs: Still don't care.
??: AND WE ARE GOING TO. *FuCK YOuR SHIT uP*.
tTs: Broderick leans back and takes a deep drag of his cigar and reclines in his leather chair. He blows a smoke ring which spells out 'DON'T GIVE A DAMN.'
---

"You dropped a bag of rolls," Dave says, grabbing the bag.

---
??: WILL YOu CARE WHEN WE KILL YOu?
tTs: You won't.
??: WE WILL.
??: I WILL.
tTs: You stupid fuck. I'll kill you.
??: HA HA HA. YOu DON'T EVEN KNOW WHO I *AM*.
tTs: You won't find me at home. I'm out on a gig.
??: THEN I'LL LOOK FOR YOu.

?? has logged off.

tTs: Jesus...
tTs has logged off.
---
Dirk is standing in front of the open fridge, still.

"Dirk?" Dave asks. "Dirk?"

----
Today's Messages (FULL LOG AVAILABLE-tT & tTs PM)
timaeusTestifiedsr: They're following me.
timaeusTestifiedsr: They don't know about you guys. No clue how they don't but there it is. And I intend to keep it that way.
tTs: So, I'm not coming back.
timaeusTestified: What the hell?
tT: Don't you think they'll check our house anyways?
tTs: I have another house listed as my primary address.
tTs: Do you seriously think I'm going to give you kids' address out on my porn site?
---

Damara shouts something from the den. Calliope rises from her seat, a quiet smile still on her face from her conversation with tG.

---
tT: So you're just leaving us.
tTs: I need you to not post anything else on the website. That way they'll think it's inactive because I'm too busy running around them.
tTs: You need to make a new chumhandle and delete all of your public hangouts. Don't delete timaeusTestified. I'll just edit your profile and make it look like an old account of mine.
tT: Who is 'them'? Are you being deliberately obtuse or accidentally obfuscating?
tTs: I don't know for sure, but I think it's some sort of gang. They have a grudge against Crockercorp.
tT: You wouldn't run away from something you weren't sure about. Who is 'they'.
tTs: I'm not going to tell you.
----

From behind Dave, the television is sounding out a My Little Pony episode. Dirk shoves something into the fridge. "There's so many- Bro's shitty swords- DAMMIT!"

----
tT: Fuck you.
tTs: Let's not start that again.
tTs: Just do what I told you. And take care of Dave.
tT: How the fuck am I supposed to protect him when I don't even know who I'm protecting him from?
tT: You've always been so worried about Dave. I'm your kid too.
tTs: Dirk, you're being melodramatic again.
tT: You fucker.
tT: You close yourself off and any time someone says something you don't like you raise up your hands an practically scream 'no feelings'.
tT: No emotions. No weakness.
tT: 'You're being melodramatc'.
tT: I act just like you, Bro. You made me into a mirror image of you. So if I'm being melodramatic, it's your fault.
tTs:
tTs:
tT: I hacked your account. You can't say shit.
tT: You need to shut up and listen for once.
tT: You don't care about protecting us. You sure as hell don't care about protecting me. You're happy you're leaving. No kids to worry about. Right, Bro?
tT: Dave doesn't know what a shitstain you are. He was too young to remember you before you cleaned up your act. Before you stopped drinking all the time and being constantly absent.
tT: Of course, you're still absent. And neglectful. And emotionally abusive.
tT: But, hey. At least you got off the booze.
---

When Calliope walks into the den Scratch is smiling and her brother looks less angry than usual. Damara's fluttering around the Doctor, removing his suit jacket gently while mumbling Japanese.

---
tTs:
tT: It's always Dave. Fuck that. I've always protected him, Bro. Stop pretending to be the worried parent. It's not a good look for you.
tT: Maybe I wanted a dad.
tTs:
tTs:

---

Somewhere in the driver seat of a cramped, sweltering car in the middle of Arizona, a man with blonde hair and jagged sunglasses is hunched over his laptop, cursing and typing frantically. Every time he presses return, his responses come out blank.

---

tT: Maybe I need to be protected too.

---

Dave is terrified. He's seen Bro angry, sure, but Dirk's always calm where Bro's a little agitated. He's not sure he's ever really heard Dirk get... really angry, before. But he sounds absolutely pissed, now. Dirk slams the fridge door and knocks a puppet off the top of it.

"Dirk," Dave says. He doesn't dare say anything else.

---

tT: I hate you so much.

---

Dirk withdraws from the fridge and, in a flash, he's gone.

---

tT: You're not going to message me again, are you.
tT: Don't bother trying to answer that. I already know the answer's no, anyways. I'm practically you, I know what your reasoning is.
tT: Don't want to endanger us, any contact is risky.
tTs:
---
"You little shit," the man in his car says, smacking the dashboard. He's staring at the laptop screen with equal parts desperation and sadness. "Just...unblock me..."

---

Dave blinks (again) and looks down at the grocery bags flooding his kitchen floor. Well, shit, he thinks. Looks like Bro's finally abandoned us for good.

He grabs the bags and starts putting them up.

---
tT: If this is gonna be our last conversation.
tT: Hell.
tT: I know what you want to hear. So I'll do this for you.
tT: I'll make a new chumhandle. I'll delete what you told me to. I'll protect Dave. And most importantly, I will never, ever try to talk to you again.
tTs:
---

"It went well," Doc Scratch says, shrugging his suit jacket into Damara's hands. "I think Caliborn here has real potential in leadership. Specifically, in leading the Felt."

Calliope looks at her brother, who is grinning wickedly. His eyes catch hers and Caliborn bares his fangs even more.
---
tT: I love you.
tT: There, I fucking said it, finally. Are you happy? Are you? Is that what you wanted from me?
tTs:
timaeusTestified is offline!
tTs:
timaeusTestified is offline!
tTs:
timaeusTestified is offline!
---
The man in the car has his face in his hands. The sun's burning bright in the windshield.
---
When Dave finishes putting up groceries, he goes to his room, grabs his laptop and starts typing.
---
tG: hey john
tG: no wait
tG: nevermind
tG: fuck

---

Dave groans and pushes his glasses up his nose. He can't tell John.

---
tG: hey callie
tG: bombs are droppin callie
tG: yello
uranianUmbra is offline!
tG: jegus
---

Of course. Callie's brother just got home. She was probably still dealing with him.

Dave closes his eyes. He is not going to talk to Rose. Sure, she was his friend, and she knew more about therapy than most, but if Dave had to suffer through her amateur analytics in his present state...

Dave thinks. An old friend of his had mentioned in passing one of her own friends, once, as someone to confide in. And Dave had only trolled the boy once or twice before. But maybe...

Dave can't afford flipping out in real life. And he knows he will, if he doesn't bitch to somebody about his shit-at-the-moment life.
---
tG: hey
cG: WHAT THE FUCK. I THOUGHT YOU WERE DONE TROLLING ME, ASSMUNCH.
tG: you have a shitty family right
cG: ARE YOU SERIOUS? IT'S NONE OF YOU GOGDAMNED BUISNESS WHAT MY HOME LIFE IS LIKE.
tG: i need to talk to somebody bro
cG: WHAT.
tG: i need to discuss feels with someone
cG: YOU HAVE FEELS?
cG: BEYOND EXTREMELY ANNOYING PEOPLE?
tG: extremely annoying people isnt an emotion dumbass
tG: now are you gonna talk to me or not
cG: WELL. UH.
cG: I MEAN.
cG:...FUCK.
cG: YEAH.
tG: okay cool
cG: WHAT DO YOU WANT TO TALK ABOUT.
tG: well
tG: i think i just became a kind of doubleorphan
cG: WHAT.
tG: yup
cG: SHIT, DUDE.
cG: WAIT, I THINK MY BROTHER HAS SOME PAMPHLETS ON DEALING WITH GRIEF. HE'S A PSYCH MAJOR. I'LL GO GET THEM.
cG: JUST. UH. DON'T GO ANYWHERE.
tG: my butt will stay in my seat
---

"Congratulations, brother," Calliope says, managing to look Caliborn in the eye. Her brother frowns, and his fangs pull back the corners of his mouth. His PDA sticks out of his back pants pocket.

Doc Scratch looks over to the clock. "Oh, it's almost lunch time. Perfect. I've heard of a new Indian restaurant..."

----

Chapter Text

friday, pt 1
---

uU: we had indian food. it was good! but i got sick :U that chicken tikki masala had something that Upset my stomach!
uU: i find it really interesting how the british adopted indian cUisine and moUlded it to fit their own tastes!
tG: callie
tG: still having a break down over here
uU: oh! i'm so terribly sorry dave :( i can't believe yoUr brother trUly did leave you two to yoUr own devices!!!
tG: whoa you used a smiley without a u
tG: or i guess frowny
tG: no that sounds stupid
uU: what are yoU going to do?
tG: uh nothing
tG: bro did this shit all the time before now
tG: hes a free spirit
tG: like a bird
tG: flyin everywhere and takin pigeon dumps on everything
tG: while cawing a rendition of the unnameable lynyrd skynyrd song
tG: ugh even typing that bands name is awful
tG: it feels
tG: like
tG: welsh
uU: yoU're doing that thing again!
tG: what thing
uU: the thing where yoU change the sUbject when yoU get Uncomfortable!
tG: nah just got sidetracked by one of my analogies
uU: right :U
tG: hey actually lets talk about something not depressing
uU: okay!
tG: what do you look like
---
Calliope freezes at her laptop.
---
uU: Um
uU: i don't think yoU woUld believe me if i told yoU.
tG: what
tG: callie nobodys that hot
---
Calliope's face burns a bright green. Her forest colored fingers fly over the keys of her computer while she thinks of a way to tell Dave that isn't lying.
---
tG: you said your 18/f/NYC right
uU: yes...:U
tG: wait
tG: hey
uU: what?
tG: i get it now
tG: you think cause i live in texas
tG: i am a racist
uU: what?
tG: yup
tG: nyc is hella diverse
tG: your prob something not caucasian
tG: and you think i
tG: dave
tG: am racist.
uU: no!!! oh no dave i dont think that at all!!!
tG: yes you do
tG: i am actually wounded
uU: i absolUtely do not!
tG: okay
tG: are you 'white'
uU: ...no. :U
tG: okay so problem found
tG: i dont care dude
tG: my best friend is
tG: well
tG: actually he's like pasty as hell
tG: but
tG: im pretty sure his cousin is hawaiian
uU: dave.
tG: and hawaiians count as like
tG: half-asian
uU: dave!
tG: i am unbiased towards skin color
tG: i judge only on respectable qualities
tG: ie
tG: like or dislike of romcoms
tG: free styling ability
tG: and eye color.
uU: DAVE I DON'T THINK YOU'RE RACIST!!!
tG:
tG:
tG: callie?
uU: i jUst don't want yoU to think that i woUld think of yoU like that!!!
uU: yoU have always been really Understanding and nice to me! and even thoUgh i've only known yoU for a few days i feel like i know yoUr character and it is good!!!
uU: and yoU are jUst really nice and i
uU: Urgh!!!
tG: uh
tG: wait
tG: so am i racist
tG: or
uU: ._.
tG: i kind of dont really understand what your outburst just then was getting at
tG: but uh
tG: okay
tG: so your not white
tG: cool
tG: what eyes do you got
uU: oh dear.
tG: you do have eyes
tG: right
uU: are yoU asking a silly qUestion to cheer me Up?
tG: no i am legit concerned
tG: about your eyes existence
uU: :U yes i have eyes.
tG: what color
uU: their coloUr is lime green.
tG: huh
tG: isnt that your favorite color
uU: my absolUte favoUrite coloUr!!! yoU remembered!
tG: yes i did.
uU: so are yoUr eyes orange? yoUr favoUrite coloUr?
tG: nope
tG: they're red
---

Calliope pauses.

The troll hemospectrum does not contain red as a naturally occurring blood color- the closest equivalent is 'rust'. Humans don't have red eyes- only brown, blue, and green. Both Prospit and Derse-ethnic carapacians have black and white eyes, respectively.

That leaves...

Cherubs.

Calliope stares at her laptop screen and breathes deeply as something rises in her chest. There could be another Cherub. And if there is another out there, Calliope could have a relationship. And she could have a good one.

With Caliborn- she doesn't want to think about ever being involved with him-but with Caliborn, she would have to be in a hate relationship. But there is another set of relationships available for cherubs- love relationships. Scratch had explained to Calliope, a long time ago, that the cherub race had withered because they'd not pursued both hate and love relationships.

Hate relationships were the basis of procreation and violence. But love relationships were the inbetweens. They were relationships where both cherubs proverbially licked their wounds, healed, and gave comfort and love to one another. When one of the cherubs was healthy and the other injured, the healthy one would nurse the weak one to health.

Without 'love' relationships, Scratch had explained, cherubs would often die from mating wounds or even self-inflicted wounds.

Calliope can't help but cringe as she remembers the discussion. She and Caliborn had sat on the couch, staring at Scratch in mutual horror. And, when the Doctor had finally finished his diatribe on cherub mating, Calliope and Caliborn had shared a single moment of understanding- each had looked at the other with disgust and terror before fleeing the room.

---
uU: oh wow
---

She can have a normal life, a boyfriend, she can have love.

Oh God. But she can't just ask Dave if he's a cherub. If he wasn't and he asked what a cherub was...she would end up damning herself and incurring Scratch's wrath. People had seen Calliope and Caliborn, but no one really knew what they exactly were outside of the Felt- most people assumed they were some sort of exotic alien species, immigrated from an old Troll space colony. Which, they were alien, in a way, but they were dangerously so. No one truly understood that they were cherubs- bringers of death, winged serpents whose terrible hatred and love could tear apart a universe.

Yeah. So Calliope wasn't about to ask him if he was a cherub.

And even if Dave was a cherub...he could turn on her after finding out she was one, too. Even if Dave cared about her, he might consider a rogue cherub in America a threat. Or he might like being the only cherub in existence. Or he might compromise Calliope's true identity accidentally. Or he might end up hatecourting her. Or.

Calliope sighs.

---
uU: that's really wonderfUl!
tG: really
tG: thanks
tG: i wear sunglasses all the time so nobody really sees em
uU: that's really really cool, dave!
---

Calliope can feel her monstrous fangs peeling back her lips in a display of grotesque joy, and she doesn't really care. Dave. A cherub. Maybe.

Wow.
---

Chapter Text

friiday pt 2

---
timaeusTestified: Stop chatting me.
??: but dont u rebeber me
??: *remember
tT: Nope.
??: aw com on
??: wen we wer little our gurdians would totes let us battle it out
??: *when *were *guardians
??: id be all up on using my fistkind
tT: I don't care about you anymore. I'm blocking you.
timaeusTestified had blocked ??.
??: oh hell no.
tT: I'm reporting you.
??: okay a22hole.
??: fiirst of all you 2eem like a TOTAL DOUCHE and ii liiterally have no clue why a girl like rl would be friend2 wiith you.
??: but 2he ii2. or wa2. and now 2he want2 to talk two you.
??: 2o ii suggest you get your nook2niifiing face out of the deep creviice you call "your a22" and apologize to rl RIIGHT NOW before ii bring 2ome riighteous paiin unto your 2hiit pentiium proce22or.
tT:...
tT: Oh my God.
tT: Appleberry Blast?
??: that ii2 a 2tupiid name.
tT: It is you.
tT: You were that shitty player on Botmasters Online who kept hacking the servers.
??: eheheh ye2
??: one of my lowliie2t work2 but iit 2tiill give2 me a chuckle.
??: waiit
??: you
??: the 2hiitty robot boy
??: ii
---

Somewhere in a pink-pastel themed room, a yellow blood troll raises his hands up in anger at a laptop, while a girl behind him covers her mouth with her hands.

---
??: ii HATE YOU
??: you 2tupiid fuck, alway2 me22iing up my codiing, alway2 2crewiing up aradiia'2 bot2
??: you
??: you
??: um ok sollux bbs sitting on the bed for a minute
??: he is chilling
??: shhhhhhhhhhhollux
??: calm down like a little baby all swaddeld in its blankts
?? *swaddled *blankets
??: dirk plz just talk to me
??: i know we havent talked since we were little babies
??: like middle school bbs
??: but i need you dirk
??: my ehoal life is gettin hacked up
??: *whole *jacked
??: eheheh hacked up
??: freudiian 2liip much
??: sollux u so silly.
tT: ...Are you two typing on the same keyboard?
??: mebbe
??: *WONK*
tT: Fine. I'll talk to you.
??: ;D
rockingtipsygnostalgic: yey
tT: I think I'm going to regret saying that very soon.

---
cG: WHAT.
tG: yeah and then she was like
tG: oh no Dave
tG: you are not a racist
tG: you are beautiful
cG: SHE SAID THAT?
tG: not the beautiful part
tG: but the other part
cG: HOLY BALLS.
cG: THAT'S A RED SOLICITATION IF I'VE EVER SEEN ONE.
tG: which you havent
tG: bc
tG: you know
cG: WHAT.
tG: idk
tG: you just seem like the guy who is
tG: not involved
tG: because he goes into hella ragefits and spews verbal diarrhea everywhere
cG: YOU FUCK.
cG: I SERIOUSLY HELPED YOU, LIKE, A DAY AGO BY TALKIG YOU THROUGH YOUR CRISIS.
cG: AND NOW YOU'RE INSINUATING I CAN'T FILL MY RED QUADRANT?
tG: no
cG: GOOD.
tG: im insinuating that you cant fill any of your quadrants
cG:
cG:
carcinoGeneticist has logged off!
tG: dave:1
tG: angry troll: negative
tG: like
tG: ninety
---
?/??/????
rockingtipsygnostalgic (RTG) posted a review on 'Love and Other Methods of Warfare'

wow u really outdid urself this time callie! the suspense between calvin and cleopatra is killing me. that chess game. le gasp anybbody.
---

In New Mexico, a man checks into a hotel populated mainly by slim carapacian immigrants.
---

Chapter Text

thaturday pt 1

---

“Plagiarism?”

Neophyte Redglare is pacing slowly in her impeccably furnished office. Her red glasses glint with the hint of light as she turns her head to the young woman sitting in her office chair. The young woman is a troll glowing with deathly pallor, eyes a dark jade.

“Of a sort,” the young woman says, covering one carefully manicured hand with another. Even the crescents of her fingernails seem to have an iridescent shine. “I've discovered that a fellow trendsetter has been taking some of my designs and claiming them as his own.”

Redglare's mind suddenly halts, as it is wont to do, and her brain slowly begins connecting different events. Flashes of a carapacian woman and Jack Noir fill her mind, interspersed with images of the Mayor.

“A fellow trendsetter,” is all Redglare says. Then, she grins a bright smile at the jadeblooded troll. “I'm guessing his name is...?”

“Stitch,” the troll woman says, looking to Redglare. The Legislacerator has leapt behind her desk and begun digging paperwork from a file cabinet. “Miss Redglare...”

Redglare's dark head pops up from behind her oak desk. “Don't worry about it, missy, he-he-he. You've helped me immensely. You know, I was thinking- a plagiarism case, that isn't Redglare's style. But you've just made my day a lot more interesting, miss, hrmmm, miss, erm-”

“Kanaya Maryam,” the young woman supplies helpfully, standing up from the leather chair in Redglare's office a bit unsteadily. “If you'd like them- I took my sketches and made comparisons with the ones that Stitch has claimed as his own. I-”

Redglare rises imperiously from behind her desk and grabs a sheaf of papers from Maryam's hands. “Yes- yes- yes-” the Legislacerator says, depositing the papers on her desk and dipping back to her file cabinets. “I'll get in touch. Short-ly. Dismissed.”

Miss Maryam coughs politely, stands, and exits the office as quickly as possible.

---

tG: and the point is
tG: the point is

Calliope stares at her computer screen with a little amusement. It's Saturday night and Dave had chatted her up over Pesterchum. She'd excused herself from the dining room quickly, leaving her brother, Doctor Scratch, and Damara standing around a table full of Japanese cuisine.

tG: the whales callie

Calliope had answered his pester and had watched as Dave quickly began to prattle off inane sentences that made little sense.

It was a little funny.

uU: yes dave? ^U^
tG: callie the whales they got brains
tG: size of
tG: size of damn big brains

Calliope, sitting on her bed with her laptop resting on her crossed green legs, covers her face and laughs. It's a happy sound, a sound which recallS a more care-free time in Calliope's life, a time before Scratch's gang-intrigue and an extremely murderous brother.

uU: dave it is great that yoU are getting concerned aboUt the environment, really, it is!
tG: damn right it is
tG: listen callie if we dont got an eninvromnt
tG: how do we
tG: how do we got horses

Calliope has to cover her face again.

tG: callie my bro loves horses
tG: dirk
tG: he would DIE withot horses

uU: dave it sounds like you are Under the inflUence of drUgs or alcohol.
tG: what why wuld yo say that
uU: oh jeez.
tG: what
uU: dave you sound so drUnk it is hilarioUs. i'm sorry but your level of intoxication is highly evident to me.
tG: okey you caught me
tG: my favorite cousin in the world came over today
tG: my cousin i didnt now existed
tG: she had likor and i dranked it
uU: oh dear.
tG: i drank it all
uU: oh my god dave!!! haven't yoU heard of alcohol poisoning?
tG: okey maybe not all.

Calliope is staring at her laptop screen so intently that she doesn't notice a shadow appear at her door.

tG: i drank half a bottle of this stuff that tasted like strawberries
tG: it was good

Calliope cocks her head unconsciously. Dave's a lightweight, compared to her. She'd went to several Felt meetings where liquor had been involved, and had not drank copiously, but had imbibed of a few glasses of wine. She'd never been drunk, despite drinking a few glasses in one night. And here Dave was pretty sauced off of half a bottle of...

uU: alright dave, okay. what was the name of the liqUor?
tG: boones farm

And Calliope loses it, her laughter a loud staccato sound in her quiet room. The shadow at her door retreats.

---

Roxy Lalonde spins around Dirk Strider's kitchen gleefully.

In the process she bumps into the refrigerator and tumbles gracelessly to the kitchen floor. Above her, Dirk's face looms, pointed glasses impassively disapproving.

“C'mon,” she said, lifting her arms up weakly to Dirk. “You should've drank, too. Is fun.”

“I don't drink,” Dirk says, lifting Roxy to a standing position. “And you shouldn't drink as much as you do. God, Roxy- I thought- I didn't think you'd fly out here. In a day. On a day's notice.”

Roxy is too busy smiling and trying not to fall over to notice Dirk's began to rub his hands on his face in exhaustion. “Well, usually I wouldn't,” she says, smiling lushly at her friend, “but then you were alls like, oh no, my brother's not here- and I was like, no! You need me!”

Roxy smiles beatifically at Dirk before maneuvering herself into a sitting position on a kitchen counter. “The house looks good, bee-tee-dubs,” she says. “Usually there's totes swords layin' all over the place all safety code-breaking-like.”

Dirk leans against the fridge. “I tossed all of the swords,” he says. “They were Bro's anyway.”

Roxy's smile turns cringey. “Ehhhhh,” she says.

---

Sollux Captor rummages through his new host's guest bedroom.

There are nets all over the damn place. Sollux is starting to seriously think that Dirk Strider is hatecourting him. After the fifth time stepping into a mysteriously placed net, Sollux vows to make a black move on him as soon as possible.

As the troll steps around a few spikes on a brown carpet, he wonders how he's gotten into this situation. His roommate, Roxy Lalonde- a nice girl and potential moirail- had talked him into going, saying it would be a good experience. All Sollux knew was that Texas was hot as Hell and he hated it.

Dirk's little brother was cool, though. All he did was be chill and hang out on his computer. Sollux could deal with that.

---

Dave wiggles around on his bed before flopping down into a half-lay, draping his body over the entirety of his lower bed. His hand flaps at his keyboard.

tG: gieang
tG: aohjpw
tG: juuhjo

uU: dave serioUsly! if yoU insist on talking to me while inebriated at least make coherent sentences!
tG: but i dont want to
tG: im so tired
uU: if yoU're tired go to bed, dave.
tG: but i have stuff to tell you
tG: like my cousin
tG: she wears headbands all the time
uU: that's great, dave.
tG: or so she says
tG: and she brought her roomate sollux
tG: he talkth like thith all the time
uU: oh dave.

---