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The meteor, well on its journey, turns lazily on a private axis such that occasionally the most visited roof of the most populated lab points squarely into the past. Sometimes, there is a strange green flicker in the unstable firmament. It uneases Dave. He retreats down into the depths of the algorithmically generated building network.
The endless, pointless, Skaia-generated halls and rooms of the meteor remind Dave of one of the screensavers he’d stare into on the classroom computers. The unsettling urgency towards nothing in particular, wrought by infinite dark corners hiding infinite potential jumpscares. The mind numbing twists and turns, the complete lack of regard for habitability or functionality beyond the surface level veneer of futuristic technology, the permeating alien lifelessness of the scene within the walls versus the deafening emptiness of everything beyond. The way this contrast makes the cold, writhing, twisting pipes seem almost alive by comparison. Too many senseless little crevices give Dave the all too familiar feeling that someone unseen is playing some sort of trick on him. In that labyrinth, his palms start to sweat if he’s alone for too long.
The space beyond the meteor isn’t cold in the way that it’s a vacuum of heat, but cold in the way that it’s a vacuum of life. Karkat can feel it whenever he stomps off in frustration too far from where the survivors have clustered. Too far from occasional brittle, tinny echoing footsteps or chatter, where it feels like the bones of the place will erode the soul right out of him and absorb him right through the gaps in the wall panels and into the algorithm, spitting his essence back out as some grotesque set dressing in the million twisted ways that the game did everything else that it absorbed.
It’s enough to make a guy regret being alone too long in a place like that.
In the consensus-designated Main Living Quarters, the sanity-leeching fractal emptiness has been somewhat banished by a garish sofa and the flickering of the fruits of Karkat’s seriously impressive hate-fueled movie torrenting extravaganza. It might be Fifty First Dates and Princess Diaries, but without much in the way of any other library to choose from, Dave finds himself seriously grateful for Karkat’s foresight, such that it was.
The troll is sprawled on pillows on the floor, face propped up on his elbows, face nearly pressed to the screen to presumably maximize his absorption of Genovian fantasy. Dave, master of the popcorn reserves, practices his aim flicking the precious resource kernel by kernel into Karkat’s hair, where they are retrieved and consumed without, impressively, protest.
Suffice to say he hasn’t been paying the closest attention to the movie.
Finally, Karkat turns around, and Dave quickly shifts from lining up the next flight path Karkatward to nonchalantly tossing snacks into his own face. It bounces off his glasses.
DAVE: sup
KARKAT: WHAT’S A SLEE-POVER?
DAVE: a what
Karkat nods his horn towards the screen, where a bunch of girls are... is that mattress surfing? Shit, that looks like fun. Why hadn’t Dave thought of that already? Maybe it’s that the intrinsic power of flight takes some of the thrill out of falling-based sports. But that’s no reason for it to be unworthy of a try. And Karkat, the miserable son of a bitch, barely even knows what a mattress is. Goddamn. Wait. Karkat. He asked something.
DAVE: is that whats happening there
DAVE: oh its just like the quintessential tween coming of age party type
DAVE: i guess its the obvious prerequisite to getting older and partying so hard you just black out on whatever soft surface
DAVE: with a sleepover you gotta get yourself a little designated cozy spot to bundle yourself all up in
DAVE: you pile into a room with all your bros and all their blankets and get your snooze on after some suitably PG rated teen hijinks
DAVE: come to think of it we are desperately overdue for some of those
DAVE: hijinks in general were well supplied but i dont think were gonna be sneaking that rating past the fcc
Per usual at this point, Karkat sifts through the word soup Dave’s serving for whatever bits he finds personally relevant, long past wasting his time prosecuting every useless detail included therein.
KARKAT: YOU’RE ALL SLEEPING TOGETHER?
DAVE: no- what, no youre just sleeping
DAVE: in the same room
KARKAT: THAT’S WHAT I SAID.
KARKAT: ANYWAY. NEVER HEARD OF IT. A PARTY WHERE YOU SLEEP? AND THAT’S FUN AND COOL? SEEMS ... EXACTLY LIKE SOMETHING YOU’D DO AS A SPECIES THAT CAN PACK BOND WITH LITERAL ROCKS. YOU LITERALLY BOND IN YOUR SLEEP. SURE. I’LL BELIEVE IT.
DAVE: yeah plus i mean if trolls tried to do it youd be lugging around literal actual tons of goo usually right
DAVE: makes sense that sleep based social interactions never really got off the ground over there what with the obvious logistical complications and all
DAVE: but ive seen you bro ive seen you copping your zs on suspiciously portable surfaces so im thinking the logistics aint so complicated
DAVE: hang on im texting rose
KARKAT: WHY ARE YOU TEXTING ROSE ABOUT MY SLUMBER HABITS.
DAVE: im not im not
DAVE: im party planning
KANAYA: It Really Is Comically Incongruent Dont You Think
KARKAT: WHAT IS?
Karkat carefully feeds the latest bolt of festive bunting to Kanaya as she secures it up high on the wall, exploiting her Rainbow Drinker Tallness in what Karkat regards as an unfair advantage.
KANAYA: “Slumber Party” As A Concept
KANAYA: Not The Least Of Which Involving Elaborate Decorations By Which To Sleep To
KANAYA: Wouldnt It Make More Sense To Observe Our Hard Work Through Waking Eyes
KARKAT: I THINK YOU’RE SETTING YOUR EXPECTATIONS A LITTLE HIGH FOR HOW MUCH THEY’VE THOUGHT THIS THROUGH.
KANAYA: They
KANAYA: Dave Said Trying It Was Your Idea
Karkat hurls the nearest flamboyant pillow at the slanderous human across the room. It sails inconsequentially into a smudged chalk drawing from an argument about comparative planetary geography from months ago.
Dave pulls a book out of the mess next to the room’s biggest table and cracks it open to some garbage purple scribbles roughly resembling a chart. Perfect. Of course these stupid pages would come in handy someday.
DAVE: alright rose help me out here whats the itinerary
DAVE: i already got mattress surfing
DAVE: were missing out on key formative teen experiences here we gotta catch up or who knows what the long term effects will be
ROSE: The long term effects of... sleepover deprivation?
ROSE: To say nothing of the literal dying and space stranding?
DAVE: right saying nothing about all that
ROSE: Hm.
Rose is conducting alchemical experiments on the codes for Dave’s cape and one of his suit jackets, trying to render something like a plush bathrobe. It’s getting there.
ROSE: As I recall, makeovers were always a heavily emphasized component. While school dress codes and overzealous, oddly specific childhood modesty ideals dissuaded or banned makeup, in the sleepover setting it was a necessity.
ROSE: A chance to play grown up, perhaps, with the modesty-preserving insulation of sterile suburbia between girl and predatory world.
ROSE: And a chance to dig your fingers to the bottom of all those deliciously crumbly powder pans you’re forbidden from meddling with the rest of the time.
The block has been transformed, apparently by cosmic collision with the ghost of a macabre Victorian Home Goods store. The leaching chill and empty rattle of the metal flooring has been banished with layers of thick rugs, ornate with florals that only Kanaya can identify, and topped with a mesa of cushions large and small cloned from the first half-passable sofa experiment. The oppressive, industrial wall paneling is hidden behind yard after yard of curtaining. The sum of the effect is that the main room has become one big blanket fort, illuminated by fairy lights and a collection of lanterns carefully arranged to cast their warm shadows to maximum effect.
For the first time in a year, it’s almost plausible to forget the infinite, hungry vacuum of existence stretching in every direction. Karkat arranges the requisite snack bar with a sense of earned satisfaction while Dave gets some background music going. Rose and Kanaya assemble the activity supplies: weird alchemized board games, cosmetics, the works.
It’s a relief to escape the desolation of the rest of the lab. There’s even some maybe-living plant-looking-things sticking out of some urns in the corner. And those probably aren’t even ghost-memory plants. This, in here, is a space for the living (and obligatory undead).
Dave has never seen Karkat this dedicated. He’s laser focused on following instructions and not fucking up the braids he’s weaving flat to Kanaya’s head. His horns bobble back and forth as he keeps glancing up at the mirror for her approval. She’s hardly looking, though. Her eyes are mostly closed as she quietly appreciates having her favor to him returned. His horns look extra shiny and a bit bigger with the hair around them secured down flat. Huh.
He’s been watching Karkat to avoid making eye contact with Rose, who is busy rubbing what he’d swear is a fucking paintbrush on his eyelid. Is this really how it’s supposed to work? At least it’s softer than it looked.
ROSE: You’re an artist, do the eyeliner yourself. It’s easier. Trust me. A flick at the corner. There.
He pulls the mirror back to take in the whole effect, lit from the glow of the fairy lights approximation strung over the furniture. Rose peers smugly over his shoulder, watching his eyes explore her work.
And, hm.
Maybe it’s because the activity mandated he ditch the shades. Perhaps it’s because she’s the one that drew on both their faces. He stares.
There isn’t any Bro in the face gawking back at him. It’s Rose.
He thought she was going to really ham up the look with Kanaya’s rejected cosmetic alchemy experiments, and he’d take it as the butt of the joke and get back at her with some other dumb prank later. But the look is just... Dave, but pretty.
A tilt of his head, and he spots the tasteful shimmer on his cheekbone. All that scrubbing, and did she even put anything around his eyes? ...Yes, there’s a new softness that has to be drawn on.
He looks like Rose, and he loves Rose. His gaze jerks from the mirror to her real face beside his. She just nods, one of those annoying know-it-all thin smiles on her own blackened lips.
ROSE: We’re twins, what did you expect?
Dave’s uncharacteristic *quiet* is what somehow attracts Karkat’s attention from his important business across the cushions. His ear twitches, and then he looks over. His face falls into the picture of flat horror at the scene. Dave’s stomach twists and the words pile up in the back of his throat to plead irony. Karkat beats his anxiety back before he can, though, by clarifying:
KARKAT: NO. I DON’T THINK THE NETHER APERTURES OF MY PSYCHE CAN HANDLE TWICE THE PLUMBING.
KANAYA: Phrasing
KARKAT: DID YOU THINK THAT WAS A SLIP OF THE TONGUE?
KARKAT: RIGHT. I THINK OUR ROSE QUOTA HERE IN UNSUPERVISED PUPASCENT ROADTRIP PURGATORY HAS HAS BEEN *MORE* THAN SATISFIED FOR SWEEPS. WE DON’T NEED ANOTHER ONE.
KANAYA: Consider The Limitations Of Your Own Perspective Regarding Satisfactory Presence Of Girl Humans
KANAYA: That Is To Say
KANAYA: Speak For Yourself
Dave grins and relaxes. Karkat’s objection is once again hilarious. He’s just objecting to more *Roses*.
DAVE: yeah karkat speak for yourself
ROSE: It’s just a little family resemblance. Or did you forget about that particular alien proclivity of ours? It simply can’t be helped.
DAVE: didnt you want the whole sleepover package well i have it on pretty good authority that makeovers are key
KARKAT: IT WAS YOUR IDEA!!
DAVE: no the fuck it wasnt
DAVE: just cause i was the one that said it out loud doesnt mean you werent thinking it first eg it was your idea first
DAVE: anyway
DAVE: youve been helping kanaya but whens your turn for the rest of your makeover
KANAYA: Yeah Karkat Whens Your Turn
KARKAT: NO WAY. DESPITE SWEEPS OF MY BEST EFFORTS, I’M STILL ME. I DON’T THINK YOUR GREASE PENCILS AND DUST PUCKS ARE GOING TO CHANGE THAT.
KARKAT: BUT I DON’T TRUST ROSE NOT TO DO TO ME WHAT SHE DID TO YOU. WE DON’T NEED THREE SEMI-ROSES RUNNING AROUND.
DAVE: ok so what if i just made you look like you but like
DAVE: distilled
DAVE: here just hold your squirmy ass still and just lemme-
He crawls to Karkat’s side of the cushion party plateau and swings a leg over Karkat’s lap to get a more ergonomic angle at his face with a pencil. Karkat reflexively steadies him, hands at his middle, and scowls.
DAVE: right just hold your face still just like that
DAVE: i got it
ROSE: Is he supposed to be a football player?
DAVE: no shut up i havent blended it in
Minutes later, Dave hands him the mirror.
KARKAT: YOU LITERALLY JUST FILLED IN MY EYE BAGS.
DAVE: yeah exactly whats more distilled karkat than that
DAVE: now you dont have to cultivate them to project that not to be fucked with vibe
KARKAT: I DIDN’T CULTIVATE THEM IN THE FIRST PLACE.
DAVE: the hell you didnt
ROSE: It’s called grunge, I think.
Karkat snorts.
KARKAT: THAT’S ME, IS IT? I’M THE GRUNGE.
KARKAT: I GUESS I STILL LOOK LIKE ME. A LITTLE MORE INTENSE. NOT BAD. LIKE THE FORCE OF MY GLARE IS CASTING A SHADOW.
DAVE: yeah see i know what youre about
Karkat takes the opportunity to more closely inspect Dave’s new look.
KARKAT: THE WEIRD ROSE LOOK ASIDE, YOURS ISN’T BAD EITHER. THE SPARKLE IS GOOD.
He reaches up to touch it, observes a speck or two transferring to his finger, and smears it on his own face. It hardly shows. The only thing for it is for Dave to rub his whole face on Karkat’s like a cat marking what’s his. Karkat cackles through his weak protest. His half-effort to push Dave off just rolls them both over onto the rugs.
Meanwhile, Kanaya has completed the swap and retreated from Karkat’s inexperienced braiding hands to Rose’s more practiced eyeshadow brush. She is her own makeup light. Convenient, in the cozy gloom. The tussle attracts their attention, though.
ROSE: What are you doing to my hard work over there?
DAVE: nothing
Mattress surfing is a lot more work than Anne Hathaway made it look. Mostly because half of it is Mattress Hauling Up The Fucking Stairs Again. It isn’t too long into that excursion before everyone is shuffling back into the blanket fort room, dumping the large cushions back into the middle of it, and trying to figure out where to crash.
KARKAT: ...HOW IS THIS PART USUALLY SUPPOSED TO GO?
DAVE: i guess we can each take a corner to set up in
ROSE: Thank you for your input, Chaperone Dave.
KANAYA: I Was Under The Impression That The Sleeping Was Also Part Of The Festivities
KANAYA: Maximally Separating For That Defeats The Purpose Of A “Slumber Party” Does It Not
KANAYA: Should The Slumber Not Also Be The Party
Rose clambers onto the heap first, leading Kanaya by the hand. Karkat follows her, as he would practically anywhere. They look to Dave expectantly.
ROSE: I don’t have any more experience here than you do. But you should get in here. A little sapient-being touch is good for you. It’ll make you less stunted.
KARKAT: INTERPERSONAL CONTACT MAKES HUMANS TALLER?
Rose shrugs.
ROSE: It would explain a thing or two between us, at least.
They all pile on to the cushion mesa, leaving the lights on dim to simulate the approaching dawn. (Majority rules on the meteor indicate that waking hours start in the artificial “evening” in communal areas.) Rose and Kanaya roll into just a couple of blankets, while Karkat burrows in headfirst under several strata. Dave follows him in and makes himself comfortable. Rose at his back, Karkat at his front. It is shocking how fast he falls asleep when he’s not left only to the ringing echo of his own thoughts, and instead can be lulled by simple proof of loved ones. It feels like he’s pulling some vital nutrient from them into his body with every breath. Something heretofore untasted.
The permeating ennui of the void has been pressed out of the area with the detritus of the party. It’s still true when they awake variously over the next dozen hours or so.
As the party dissipates, so do the decorations. Over the next hours and fake “days”, they’re disseminated throughout the neighboring blocks and hallways, pushing the entropy of death out of those spaces too, and staking claim to them for the survivors.
Karkat’s footsteps don’t ring so hollowly on the runner rugs between his claimed respiteblock and the nutritionblock. His stomps result in a solid, grounding thud instead. It’s still enough that by the time he enters the block, Dave’s already making him a fresh cup of coffee. There’s chalk dust on the floor from where he’s drawn “Today’s Weather” in a painted-on picture of a window on the wall. It’s kind of a swirly purple situation out there.
KARKAT: YIKES. LOOKS LIKE A GOOD NIGHT TO STAY INSIDE.
DAVE: always is
Dave sets the mug on his favorite table, the one with a cushy loveseat instead of chairs and a great view of the shitty window drawing.
But with real curtains on each side, repurposed from the party, it comes off as kitschy instead of desperate. Playful instead of morbid.
Karkat squeezes onto the velvet next to Dave and leans against his shoulder, working his nearest horn into the most uncomfortable possible angle against Dave’s jaw just to see what he’ll tolerate.
Dave just sips his coffee, even as the horn in his face makes a little dribble into Karkat’s hair.
Karkat scowls and looks up at him as if it’s his fault. But he’s distracted by a gleam.
KARKAT: YOU’VE STILL GOT THE SPARKLE ON YOUR CHEEK.
DAVE: guess it stuck
While the rest of the lab still writhes into the gloom like it always did, the emergency lifeboat has been wrought into an actual hive with help from the girls and Dave’s wild co-sleeping idea.
Rose had described the effect as something about wringing lilacs out of the dead land. And, once the lilacs were explained to him, Karkat considers that it’s plenty apt. A flare of life in the land of the dead, indeed.