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Your name is Roxy Lalonde. You’re eighteen years old, and you are certain that you're having the worst Valentine's Day in the history of the world.
And like, you’d probably know, right? You kinda fast-forwarded through most of Earth C’s history, but you did witness it all pass by. So you've gotta be qualified to judge whether a Valentine's Day sucks. And this one sucks .
To start with, it's not even really called Valentine's Day. It's called Quadrants Day, which is such a lame name and really not catchy and also kind of dumb to cram all those complex relationships into one holiday, I mean come on, at least give each quad it's own day, right?
Second, you're famous. Kind of hard to date when you're famous. Especially hard to date when you're famous for making the universe .
You’re sitting in a restaurant in lower Cantown, awkwardly listening to your fifth blind date of the day gush over you and your friends even though you took immense pains to stay anonymous - guess you just have a really unique face. And eye color. Damn. Talk about a blessing and a curse.
Third, you kinda set yourself a fun little goal. Super easy. Fantastic. Couldn’t possibly go wrong. You meant to go on seven blind dates today, set up online, without telling anyone who you are. One of those classic rom-com style situations guaranteed to produce fun shenanigans and maybe some 200% genuine romance if you were lucky. Of course in practice, the first problem is that those ‘blind dates’ are turning out to be about as blind as your original timeline’s Terezi - which is to say, not very blind at all.
You awkwardly sip your milkshake - which your starry-eyed date insisted on paying for - and inwardly mourn your naive dreams of a classic pre-flood city-girl Valentine’s. Maybe by the end of today, you’ll be engaging in another rom-com tradition and tearfully gorging yourself on ice cream while watching sappy movies.
“So. Um. What is she like? The Muse of Space? In real life, getting to - to talk to her?” Your date gazes adoringly somewhere over your left shoulder, fiddling with her silver rod-and-serpent necklace.
Another problem with being famous that makes this Valentine’s Day suck - Problem 2a, if you will - is that all your friends are also famous, and a lot of the people you’re meeting today are fans of them, if not of you. If you had to pick a Problem 2b, it would be that you can’t really have a social circle outside your friends, which severely limits your normal dating pool. Most people in that dating pool have unresolved issues, or boundaries you can’t cross, or are taken, or have some combination of the above. Hence the blind dates.
“Uh.” You fiddle with your straw. “She’s great. Fantastic.” And you feel bad. Normally you’d be all over gushing about Callie. Callie is fantastic, she’s an absolutely wonderful, beautiful person.
But like. This is supposed to be a date. And it kiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinda feels more like a Q&A session with a fan. Or something. You’ve never done that before, but it makes you think of those old contests on pre-apocalypse Earth where some people could win dinner with their favorite authors? Except Portia here didn’t write a really cool essay or get picked out of a hat, you matched with each other on online profiles, mutually thought you were both cool, and decided to meet up for Quadrants Day to see if there was a spark in person. But just like the other four dates you set up earlier today, this one is turning out to be a bust.
Portia hasn’t touched her garlic fries. You don’t think she noticed them arrive. She might’ve been too busy talking about the sad poetry she wrote in high school about Callie’s tragic childhood - which, y’know, absolutely tragic-poem-worthy, you’re not arguing that, it’s just...
“You’d uh. Heh. Would you rather be on a date with Calliope right now, lulz? Heheh...” You laugh nervously. Portia finally stops talking, her face immediately flushed.
“Oh, I - oh gods, I’m so sorry -” She covers her mouth, mortified.
Oh God why. “It’s uh, it’s okay, I get it, it’s exciting -” You awkwardly raise a hand and give a weak attempt at a smile.
She’s leaning in closer. Tears are starting to well up in her eyes. Oh no. “I’m so embarrassed, Miss Lalonde -”
“Roxy.”
“I - of course, um. Roxy.” Portia swallows, eyes still wet and dewy. “I just. Didn’t think I would ever have the opportunity to meet one of the Creators,” and you can hear the capital C in there, you barely suppress your cringe - “and I got too excited, I apologize. You are every bit as lovely and wonderful as she is, it’s just I’ve - I’ve worshiped her my whole life, and you are renownedly close with her, and I. I got carried away. I’m so sorry. I’ll just -”
Oh man . You feel a pang. She’s a lot like Callie used to be in the early days. You don’t know if pale is like, even a thing for humans, but you feel so sorry for this poor starstruck girl. And like, that definitely wasn’t the energy you wanted to bring into your Valentine’s Day adventure, but hey, it’s technically a romantic feeling? Maybe?
You lean in to cover her hand with yours. “Portia -”
She sobs, hastily shoving a large wad of cash onto the table as she stands. “For the - for the meal - I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I fucked it up -”
She rushes for the door. You leap to your feet and dash after her. “Portia!” She’s out on the street and has disappeared by the time you reach the sidewalk. “Portia, wait!”
You try to text her on the app you met on, but she’s unmatched with you. Fuck. You hope she’s okay. You’ll have to hack into her socials and check on her later, just to make sure she’s alright. Hopefully the worst that she does is cry into a tub of rocky road.
This Valentine’s Day sucks. And you’re a little worried that you might’ve made it slightly worse for everyone else just by being here. Like some kinda horrible anti-Cupid.
~
Date number six is a troll guy, a seadweller named Baylei who you meet at the cat park in the New Alternian city of Afteral. Like you, he really loves coding, and to your pleasant surprise, he doesn’t seem to recognize you at first.
To your un pleasant surprise, he picked the cat park because his ex was going here with her new girlfriend, and he wants to show you off as some arm candy/to make her jealous.
Ex’s New Girlfriend recognizes you, though. You hastily make shushing motions behind Baylei’s back while he and Ex seem to be flipping pitch against their better judgment, and New Girlfriend shuts her gaping mouth quickly. You’re halfway to absconding when Baylei unfortunately remembers you exist.
“How about a double date, Ryokse?” he says all fake-cheerfully, hooking his arm into yours without looking at you. “You and Kallin, and me and Roxy!” Wait, is his ex-matesprit just named ‘Roxy’ in troll six-letter speak? You kinda wanna laugh, except for the fact that oh wow you really thought there were no more really bad things that could possibly happen to you after Date Number 2 blamed you for creating a universe capable of producing suffering, could it?
You wish you’d arranged for Callie or Jane to give you a bail-out call for these dates like the pre-flood guidebooks advised, you could really use one right now.
Kallin is practically vibrating out of her skin trying not to give you away, the tips of her horns visibly shaking. Ryokse is clearly fuming, her tiny frame making her trembling balled fists kind of hilarious. Okay, as a date, this is clearly a bust, but maybe it could at least be entertaining if you play your cards right...
“Awh, that sounds just great, sugarcube!” You simper, entwining your fingers in his. “I’d just love to get to know your friends!”
Baylei blinks, as if just remembering you can talk, despite the perfectly fine conversations you had just before encountering Kallin and Ryokse. His ex groans, and Kallin starts choking on laughter.
“Oh come on. Trust me girl, you can do better than that!” Ryokse gestures to Baylei in disdain. “You have to see what he's doing here, right?”
You blink emptily, like every dumb blond trope in the book. “What do you mean?”
Now Baylei knows for sure something is up, because having been reminded you exist and having seen firsthand how smart you are, he’s actually noticed you’re now putting on an act for some reason. You wonk saucily up at him. Ah, now there’s the guilty expression.
Ryokse makes a strangled noise. Baylei quickly takes you aside. “Listen, uh, we don’t have to if you don’t want -”
“Believe me, this actually isn’t the worst date I’ve ever been on, and I’ve got nothing better to do this afternoon.” A sweet little calico winds up against your legs and mews, and gosh darn it you can’t *not* scoop her up! You sweep the dawww miss flufferbutt up into your arms and coo. “Aw gosh you’re just the cutest!!! Anyway, I’m not sure Ryokse over there is keen on doing any kind of mixed-quad group date today, so it’d depend more on her than me.”
While Baylei is sputtering about him and Ryokse totally not being pitch and how it would be a double date and not a group date, Kallin sneaks up behind you and whispers: “ Hey, uh. Um. Can I get your autograph? ”
A;ldsghlashglsadhgldsghldshgl.
“ Maybe later? ” you whisper back frantically, scritching Miss Calico behind her ears. Why is this your life?
Sometimes you find yourself missing your old normal that Jane and John claim wasn’t really ‘normal.’ Just you and your neighbors. Sure you’ve always been kind of famous among carapacians, but they’re more, like, chill about it. It feels different when it comes from humans and trolls. You’re not supposed to be an Sburb Player to them, you’re supposed to be... One of them.
Was that too much to ask? That things go back to the ‘normal’ like they were before the waterpocalypse? To feel like you’re just a small part of a bigger world, not unique and alone in the universe?
Probably.
“Autograph?”
Oh no. Ryokse has drifted closer, switching from frowning up at Kallin and squinting at you. Her eyes suddenly widen.
“ Holy -” she chokes. “Baylei, you nookhead, you have no idea how fucking lucky you are.” She grabs Kallin’s hand and bows . “Ma’am, I firmly believe he doesn’t deserve you, but if you chose him, far be it from me to judge your taste.”
Baylei’s expression of pure confusion is priceless, but the matching looks of... adoration from Ryokse and Kallin are -
You can’t. You can’t do this.
You Vanish.
~
You re-exist back at your apartment, only realizing you’re still holding Miss Calico when she gives you an indignant mew .
Aw, crap. Well, guess you have another cat, now. Better make a vet appointment and start buying multi-cat litter.
Vodka Mutini the IV is chilling in your room. You close the door on him, so he and your inadvertently-stolen calico can sniff each other through the crack under the door. You pour out a dish of tuna water for her, and flop onto your couch with a sigh.
Welp. Six out of seven dates have been a bust. You might as well order tubs of ice cream in advance. Are you supposed to invite your platonic ‘grilfriends,’ Jane and Callie, or are you supposed to be consoled by your gay best friend, Dirk? The movies have led you to believe that the ‘gay best friend’ routine is best applied when the heroine has been done wrong by her man, while the ‘girl best friends’ get brought in when you feel lonely and undesirable. Probably.
The last date (your last hope) is in the Consort Kingdom this evening, with a guy your age. You don’t have a ton of similar interests, but you hit it off really well in online conversation - he’s kinda silly, like you, and he also wants a ‘classic Valentine’s Day.’ You’ve arranged to go see a movie, and maybe get dinner after if it goes well. He’ll be wearing a blue letterman jacket, you’ll be wearing pink jeans.
With your luck, he’s probably an Earth B nerd, and he’ll recognize you instantly. You cover your face with a pillow and scream-sigh.
Miss Calico having settled in a little more and now sniffing curiously at your bedroom door, you open it a crack. The two kitties stare at each other, mushing their faces to try and get closer - there’s no hissing, no laid-back ears, no lashing tails. You open the door.
Vodka pounces, but it’s a play-pounce, and soon the two are zooming around like they’re old friends. You’re giddy with how you’ve lucked out in finding a friendly cat to keep him company while you’re out. Today, two cats - tomorrow, a clowder of ninety! And next, the world!!!!
Perhaps today hasn’t been such a wash after all.
You settle in with a mug of tea to do some digital snooping. Vodka and the calico ( Dr. Calico? Purrfessor Calico? Baroness Calico von Loafhaunch?), seemingly done playing for now, each snuggle up on either side of your hips, purring like rocket engines.
Dates 1 through 3 are all ecstatic over their Rogue of Void encounters/sightings, and getting all kinds of attention on Tweetr for it - even the misanthropic Date Number 2, who seems to have interpreted your date as some kind of maybe-pitch recognition of his superior intellect compared to other mortals. Date Number 4 is vagueblogging on his Tumblog about striking out with someone famous, but not saying who. No online activity from Portia, but she’s tagged in some group pictures on Firegram. She appears to be third-wheeling with her friends - oh, no, never mind, it’s an ashen date with her quadmates - ‘to take her mind off today’s flush disaster,’ which is a great relief to you. Ryokse and Kallin are gushing on Snapspeak about meeting you at the cat park, posting a sneaky photo Kallin must’ve taken when you weren’t looking. No mention of Baylei, he seems to have slunk off to a coffeeshop to lick his wounds and bemoan the idiocy of his dipshit behavior on Seddit, unintentionally drawing the sympathy of the highblood incel crowd. (He disables his account shortly afterward in disgust.)
You don’t know if you should own up to stealing Miss Calico on your socials. You’re sure the cat park would forgive your illicit cat-thieving ways, especially if you offered to officially adopt her.
You hastily check to confirm she was actually up for adoption, and not someone’s pet - she doesn’t have a collar, so you don’t think so - oh, phew, ‘Nugget is looking for her forever home.’
You send them the adoption fee and e-signed papers, so they’re not laboring under the impression she escaped. And with some leet haxxor legal ass-pulls, she’s officially your kitty, and ‘Nugget’ no longer. You give Mistress Calico (Missi for short) some chin scritches.
If nothing else goes right this Valentine’s Day, you’ve got a new cat. So it’s not a total loss.
~
You’re standing outside the theater, the sun just barely kissing the edge of the horizon. You scuff your shoe against the curb.
It’s starting to feel like you couldn’t really be in a relationship with someone you don’t already know. It would be like a celebrity dating a fan - or like. Jesus dating someone who was raised Catholic. Okay that’s probably a bad analogy, but the point is that you think maybe it’ll never be what you want. You created the universe, you were there when their distant ancestors were first spawned onto this planet - they’re never going to see you like just another person.
You consider (not for the first time) just... Tossing your identity into the Void, and summoning a new one, along with papers and whatever else you might need. Going dark. Letting your only friends wonder forever where you went, starting a new life as a new person.
It would be such a shitty thing to do, especially to Rose and Callie, but God if it isn’t tempting sometimes, the idea of not being Roxy Lalonde anymore. The idea of not being so uniquely you , alone in every world.
“Roxy?”
A familiar voice speaks up beside you, surprised. You jolt.
It’s John. He’s wearing a blue letterman jacket, holding his phone in his hands, your blind-dating profile open on its screen. You both blink at each other for a few minutes.
You clear your throat. “So. Um. I haven’t uh. Haven’t had a lot of success with having a real Valentine’s Day so far -”
“Me neither, uh, I mean - ” John babbles, “The like, normal girls, when they recognized me, um, not that I - It wasn’t like -”
“Yeah. Yeah, me too. With the ‘being recognized.’” You scratch the back of your neck, a blush creeping up your cheeks. “Um. Do you. Do you still wanna go on a date? I mean, if it’s not too awkward ‘cause we already know each other -”
“It’s not! I mean, yes, I’d love to! Like to. Really like to! It’s... the least awkward date I’ve had today. Wait, uh, I mean -”
You laugh, and his mouth snaps shut, his face going pink. “Guess what? I wanted to go on seven dates today. Try to have some classic rom-com style shenanigans. I was sure witness to some, but like. It got ruined by having me there.”
“I can’t really imagine how anything could be ruined with Roxy Lalonde in the room, you’re great,” John mutters with a quizzical eyebrow, and you can’t help the giggle fit that comes over you.
“Damn, Egbert, talk about the most accidentally smooth move ever!”
The two of you go into the crowded theater, chatting and joking the whole way. If anyone stared at either of you, you don’t remember noticing. You get a tub of popcorn to share, and sit down to watch an action comedy starring one of Nic Cage’s distant descendants, who John later praises as ‘almost as good as his ancestor, but he should really try to find his own style, he’s wasting his talent doing an impression.’ You both get dinner at a local mushroom cuisine place, at John’s recommendation, and even stay for dessert.
He comes home with you to your apartment, and meets your cats. You have to explain the delivery of the many tubs of ice cream on your front porch, with how you were expecting disappointment, and John doesn’t judge.
“I think maybe there never was such a thing as a ‘classic Valentine’s Day,’” he confesses over a bowl of mint chip as you put on Failure to Launch . “I mean, can you even describe what that’s supposed to be, without something going wrong? You never see someone on TV go on a date with a stranger and it’s perfect and magical and the start of something beautiful. It’s always bad dates, the disappearing manic pixie dream girl, relationships ending in finding someone else, or people getting set up with people they hate at first and then fall in love with. A story about Valentine’s Day never ends with someone getting the perfect Valentine’s Day. Sure, maybe they find ‘the one,’ but it’s never because they were looking for them. It makes me wonder what the characters are expecting, when they look for ‘the perfect Valentine’s Day.’ Have they seen movies where it works that way?”
“I mean, real life isn’t like movies,” you point out, pressing ‘play’ on the remote. “And it can work out that way.”
“Yeah, but I think maybe it’s just as weird to expect it to? Especially with blind dates, ‘cause you don’t really know each other - I think Valentine’s Day is more for people who know each other really well already, strangers trying to find love makes it seem like less of a holiday and more like...”
The first bit of dialogue in the movie starts, and John trails off. But you get it, you think.
You lean up against him, a cat and bowl of ice cream in each of your laps. He puts his arm around you as you lean your head on his shoulder.
Dating friends can be hard, in a lot of ways. But dating strangers is a lot harder, especially with your life. And hey, so long as you’re in the same boat, you might as well stick close together and weather the storm, right?
