Chapter Text
Your name is DAVE STRIDER, and you’re trying your best to not slam dunk your poor, fragile laptop against the floor of this godforsaken meteor.
Ordinarily, this wouldn’t be too difficult of a task for you. You’ve never been the type of edgy teen who punches holes in their drywall because their mom won’t give them enough chicken nuggies for their 3am gaming sessions, mostly because you don’t have a mom to yell at. And you generally try to be careful with the things you own. In your house, anything other than (shitty, breakable) swords generally wouldn't be replaced in a timely manner, so you've learned to be economical. But this thing was starting to get on your nerves.
You glare at your computer, betrayed. You’ve been its owner for around 4 years now and you’ve always considered yourselves to have a pretty decent workplace relationship, but this was too much. It basically stole your sandwich from the community refrigerator even though you specifically wrote your name in Sharpie all across the top of the Tupperware container, as if to spite you in particular. This was a total breach of employer-employee trust, and pensions will be cut, you promise.
You’re vaguely aware that you’re muttering under your breath, but you’re a bit too tired to care. You really needed this movie night, ok? It’s a few days away from the one-year anniversary of your Bro’s death, and you’ve spent the past half a week hiding in your room and trying not to have a total fucking meltdown.
You stare at your computer, fingers frozen on the keys. You just don’t know what to do, or how to feel. All you want is for one thing in your life to go right. Is that so much to ask for, universe? You can feel your face scrunch up in the way that suggests a total fucking meltdown is soon to occur, but you can’t do anything about it. You hate this.
The bundle of blankets that is Karkat shifts on the opposite side of the couch, startling you out of your spiral of thoughts. You’re grateful, for a moment. You could have sworn that he’d been fast asleep not a minute ago, but he looks fairly awake now. It’s probably a brorail thing to know when your friend is about to freak out, you decide.
The troll in question glares over at you, though not without concern at your (more than usual) slightly crazed behavior. “What the fucknuggets did you do to the movie, Strider?” He asks, tone showing more emotion than he probably wanted.
You feel a dry smirk pull at your lips, levity coming more easily than expected. “It’s over, dude. Weren’t you awake enough to see the ending?” You retort back.
“Hardy har har, don’t try and pretend like we weren’t in the fourth-and-a-half act, two entire acts away from the finale,” he grumbles, untangling himself from his blanket cocoon to stretch his arms. “And-- besides--” he covers his mouth, yawning loudly behind his hand. You hold back a giggle at the look on his face. “-- I wasn’t fucking asleep!”
You turn your attention back to the piece of junk you call your computer, shaking it slightly. What the hell, computer? Is Troll Dane Cook’s face ugly enough to make it commit seppuku? Actually, that’s probably the reason why it chose today of all days to implode.
You try closing the lid and opening it again, to no avail. The cursor continues blinking at you over the half-buffered face of Troll Jessica Alba.
Karkat groans loudly. “And I thought I was a bad hacker. How in the name of Jegus are you so bad at this?” He leans over, and in one quick motion, pulls the laptop out of your hands.
You process all of this about a minute too late to stop him. “Wha-- hey, dude, what are you doing!” You yelp, struggling to untangle yourself from the pile of blankets and pillows and reach over to him.
Karkat ignores you, holding the laptop over his head. “I’m not going to sit here and watch you bust your shameglobes over a dumb fucking husktop, numbnuts.” Despite having claimed to be awake this entire time, his voice is raspy from sleep and his eyes are bleary. It makes you feel warm and squirmy inside, in a way that’s less uncomfortable than you expected. The power of friendship, or some shit like that.
It probably isn’t worth it to try and get the computer back. You sigh loudly, dramatically slumping back against Karkat’s side. “I see how it is.” You rest a hand against your forehead in a mock swoon. “You were just using me for my laptop, and now that you have it, you’re throwing me aside like a used tissue.”
He huffed, giving you a side-eye. “Like hell I don’t, you overdramatic douchejerk. I just don’t want you getting your grubby human prongs on this quality husktop.”
“That laptop is a piece of shit and you know it. It’s shittier than a shit taken by a shit-covered hobo in the New York City subway. The shit has shit on it. It’s pooping out more little shits, like some sort of fucked up asexual reproduction. That laptop’s basically created a brand new species of shit, is what I’m saying.”
“What is it with you and saying things that don’t make any modicum of sense! Is it some sort of messed up human pastime, to be as confusing as physically possible? Like a sort of defense mechanism against whatever dangers your squishy planet has to offer?” He griped, waving one arm at you in an attempt to slap you. It flaps in the air, an inch away from your face. You take pity on his feeble flapping, leaning forwards slightly and letting his hand hit your arm with a soft “whump”.
While you’ve been talking, Karkat has been doing something on your computer. You hope to god he isn’t trying to hack anything, since you don’t feel like alchemizing a new computer after he invariably blows it up. He presses a button, then sits back in relief.
And he called you overdramatic. “No need to hold back, dude, go give yourself a big round of applause. I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been to-- wait, what did you do again? Turned my computer on and off again? Incredible.” You shake your head, giving him a slow clap. “I just can’t believe it. Literal rocket science. Pchooooo to the max.”
“Ugh!” Karkat practically shoves the laptop back at you, burrowing down into the pile of blankets. “Why do I even bother talking with you, Strider? It's like talking to myself, but somehow worse!” He opens his mouth again to deliver another scathing diatribe, and you decide it's time to intervene before his insults get even lamer.
You shoosh him, putting a hand over his face (and hoping it’s his mouth that you’re covering). “That’s probably why. And shut the hell up, Snorekat. It’s nighttime, remember? Or daytime, whatever stupid system you go by. Don’t want to make spiderbitch even grumpier by making her lose her beauty sleep.” You smirk at that.
The nubby troll grumbles, pushing your hand away from him, but obligingly quiets down. “Whatever, asswad, just start the movie up again.” He yawns loudly immediately after saying that, making you snort. He’s definitely going to fall asleep again, but you’re not in the mood to get into another argument this late at night, so you start it up.
“Oh joy of all joys, it works again. Better stay awake this time.” You deadpan, before relaxing back into the couch.
You stare blankly at the screen, settling in for another hour of continuing to watch this stupid movie. To your dismay, you realize that you recognize this scene. It’s one that happened around half an hour ago, meaning Karkat had rewinded. At least you were right, he’d fallen asleep at some point, but at what cost? You exhale through your nose, content to let your mind wander until the movie caught up to where you last stopped watching.
The room you had chosen for your movie nights was dark and drafty, which didn’t make it exactly the ideal place to watch things, but what other choice did you have in this giant stone meteor? Not for the first time, you think about how alone you and Karkat are in here. Usually, the thought is accompanied by embarrassment or guilty delight, but right now, all you feel is a bit spooked. Even back in Texas, you always felt secure in the knowledge that if someone tried to break into your house and attack you, your bro would be there to protect you. But here, with everyone either asleep or far away enough that they’re functionally absent, you have no one.
You realize that Karkat hasn’t made a noise in a while, and you subtly glance at him over the rims of your shades. He’s slumped over the armrest on the other side of the couch, and you can’t tell if he’s awake or asleep yet. You poke him in the ribs, and he jolts upright.
“Mm- hey!” His voice is slurred with sleep, and he seems to take your poke as a cue to lean against you instead. He drops his head on your shoulder, making your cheeks redden. He’s just so goddamn warm -- heat emanating off of the small area of skin that’s in contact with you. It serves to distract you from your growing unease for a bit, but before long, you begin to feel a familiar chill creep up your neck.
You’re feeling a strange sense of deja vu, one that’s not entirely related to rewatching the last 10 minutes of Troll Good Luck Chuck. You’ve spent too long on this damn meteor, you think. Too much time with not enough things to do, that’s what it is. Or maybe it was the residual angst from your 3-day long shitfest. You’re starting to think you might be going a bit crazy, stuck in your thoughts.
A loud bang sounds from behind you, snapping your attention back to the present. You don’t know how long it’s been (well, you do -- it’s been around 6 minutes, but you’re trying not to keep track of things so much), but Karkat is now soundly asleep once again. He’s making little chittering noises in the back of his throat that sound uncomfortably similar to purrs. Man, trolls are weird.
You might be legitimately getting nervous at the strange sounds coming from behind you. It’s probably just the random creaking of the meteor, providing a physical reminder that you’re hurtling through space at the speed of light, but it wouldn’t hurt to just check.
You twist around as much as you can without disturbing the sleeping troll on your shoulder, but the only thing you see behind you is darkness. Your hair raises on the back of your neck. Why did you choose to set up a couch in such an open space? Having the hallway open up directly to your back wasn’t doing anything for your nerves right now.
Your hand twitches for your strife specibus, but you hold back. After the last time you were startled by (and almost stabbed) the Mayor, you’d decided to chill a bit on the sword swinging.
You pause the movie, listening carefully. This is reminding you too much of your brother’s sneak attacks, and you don’t like it. There--! The soft thuds sharpen into something a bit more understandable: footsteps. You carefully push Karkat off of you -- he squirms slightly, but doesn’t wake up -- and flashstep into a standing position.
“Rose…?” You call out, leaning against the back of the sofa. Now you’re worried, but for a different reason. Rose wouldn’t seek you out during you and Karkat’s scheduled bonding night unless there was a good cause. Oh god, what if it’s the clown troll? You haven’t seen him at all since you’ve started on this journey, but you’ve heard things from Karkat that make you wary. You rescind your previous decision to keep your sword away, quickly pulling it out of your strife deck.
Nobody answers, all but proving your suspicion. It would probably help if it was less fucking dark in here -- the laptop is the only thing illuminating this large area, and is currently only shining on the other side of the couch. Unlike trolls, you can’t see in the dark, so you quickly move to flick the light switch on. Brightness floods the room, filling you with relief that you’re not about to be the guest star of a juggalo-themed horror movie, and spills out into the hallway. There’s nothing there.
You’re about to turn back to your laptop when, out of the corner of your eye, you see something step out of the edge of darkness.
The first thing you notice is the horns, long and slightly curved outwards at the end, and completely unfamiliar to you. Klaxons blare in your head, yelling “stranger, stranger, there’s a stranger on the meteor!” The second thing you notice is the rapier that the strange troll is dragging on the floor behind him. You take a second to wonder if he(??) purposefully chose a weapon that matched his horns, slight curve and all, before your brain snaps into action.
You do the thing a Knight is meant to do: you rush at him, your own sword raised high, and strike to protect your friend.
The unfamiliar troll reacts quickly, bringing his own weapon up to block the blow. It’s mostly a good thing, since your strike was coming in fast and you didn’t want to actually hurt him, but the strength in his blow stings. Your wrists are going to be aching after this, you can tell.
“Who even are you?” You say in a low tone, “and how the hell did you get here?”
He blinks, opening his mouth to reply, but you spin around in a fast move, aiming for his hand in hopes of disarming him. He twists out of the way in the nick of time, letting Caledscratch slide off of his rapier. You don’t relent, immediately swinging to the other side.
“There appears to be some--” He yells, ducking to the side and narrowly missing your last blow. “Some misunderstanding! I must ask you to desist! I’m sure there’s some agreement we can come to.”
You pause, mid-swing. That wasn’t really an answer, and after learning about troll culture, you aren’t too sure if you could trust him, but you’d feel too bad if you just whaled on the guy nonstop.
“What misunderstanding?!” You flashstep back, far enough away that he won’t be able to attack you quickly, and appraise the situation.
Your initial guesses might be off: despite being quite a bit stronger than you, the troll doesn’t seem like too much of a fighter. He’s breathing hard, and the sword he’s holding out in front of him is bobbing in the air. You can see his arms trembling slightly. More than anything, he looks thankful to be given a short reprieve from the strife, but you’re not fully convinced that it isn’t a trick of some sort. You remain on your guard.
He grimaces, having evidently failed to smile at you, and lowers his sword by an inch. “I’ll offer you a deal: if you stop attacking me, I won’t report you to the drones or demand any additional compensation. Convinced? If not, then I’ll throw in an extra bonus and I’ll do you a solid. How does that sound?” He holds a hand out to you, smiling nervously.
That was a flurry of words, thrown at you at high speeds. You can understand fast-talking pretty well, being something of a speedy speaker yourself, but even you were flabbergasted for a second. It doesn’t seem like he wants to fight, so you lower Caledscratch as well.
“Sure.” You shrug, not bothering to shake his hand. He looks confused for a second at your nonchalance, but recovers quickly, pulling his hand back to his side.
“Perhaps we can… introduce ourselves first? My name is Tagora Gorjek.” He pauses, as if planning to continue that statement, then rethinks that idea and remains silent.
Now that you’re not actively fighting him, you take the opportunity to look him over. You’re not actually certain if this troll is a guy -- he has an androgynous build and his long hair makes it a bit confusing, but his face and clothing makes him seem more like a dude. If you were into guys, you’d probably say he’s pretty good looking. He’s definitely a bit older than you, probably around 18 or 19, and is a lot skinnier than his strength would indicate. He also looks like a bit of a sleaze, to put it lightly. You definitely do not trust this guy. Judging by the color of his vest, he’s probably Terezi’s blood type (aquamarine or something?).
You give him a single nod, making sure your aloof composure is intact. “Strider. Dave Strider.” Perfectly monotone delivery, you think to yourself, with a 10/10 for the James Bond reference. That’s worth at least 20 irony points.
Tagora doesn’t seem to catch onto the joke, nodding to himself. “Strider Dave Strider. Not the strangest client I’ve ever had.”
Client? Now you’re confused. “Hold on a second. Rewind. Back it up.” You consider making car-backing-up noises, but that would be too embarrassing, even for you. “I still have some questions for you, before we start talking about clients or whatever.”
The troll blanches, but ducks his head in acquiescence. “Fair’s fair, I suppose. Ask away then.” He definitely looks nervous, which is a sign that you’re doing something right in this interrogation.
“How did you get on this meteor? Like, were you here the whole time?” You lean on your sword, looking at him. You’re genuinely curious about this. It isn’t often that a random troll gets teleported into your meteor -- at least, unless you’re in a dream bubble, which you’re fairly certain you’re not in.
That makes Tagora look even more confused, his polite composure completely falling apart. “I… I’m sorry? Meteor?” The one eye that’s visible through his swoop of hair widens.
“Uh, yeah.” You frown. “Where did you think you were?”
He looks around, doing a double-take that’s so exaggerated it seems like it should be comical, if not for the look of terror on his face.
“What…?” He manages to get out, before he’s interrupted by a shout from behind you. Shit, you’d completely forgotten about Karkat. He’s sitting straight up on the couch, eyes transfixed on Tagora. Tagora is staring back, mouth agape slightly.
“What in the name of nooksniffing fuck-assery is this?” Karkat yells, flailing his arms around. Oh god, he’s completely losing his shit. “Strider, is that a goddamn troll? Are my ganderbulbs working correctly or is that a bulgemunching tealblood standing in our fucking entertainment block?!”
Oh, that’s what that color of blood was: teal . You feel like you’ve learned something new today.
Karkat still hasn’t stopped yelling.
“--if this is another lusus-fucking dream bubble then I’m going to throw myself off of the side of this meteor! That’s it, I’m done! I’ll go jump on Lord English’s bulge myself and get it over with! The epitaph to my grave will read: ‘here lies Karkat Vantas, biggest fucking douche in Paradox Space apart from Paradox Space itself! Oh, and Dave Strider, since he didn’t even have the decency to wake me up from this living daymare!’”
Tagora is slowly inching towards the door, but you ignore him in favor of getting Karkat to calm the fuck down.
You flashstep over to Karkat, kneeling down in front of where he’s still laying on the couch. You reach forwards to tenderly grab one of his hands in yours, and-- you slap him in the face with one of the couch pillows. “Relax, dude.” You say, as comfortingly as possible. “Shit’s fine.” You can feel him getting ready to go off again, so you quickly hit him with the pillow again before he can respond.
With that finished, you stand up and turn to face the newcomer, but all that awaits you is the sight of an empty doorway. In the distance, you can vaguely see a figure booking it down the corridor.
“Shit,” you say, staring dumbfounded at the receding sillhouette of Tagora. That might be a problem.