Detective Pyrope doesn't understand hearts

by ClownyPants42

Summary:

It's just the canon Terezi <3< Gamzee thing, but with the roles reversed

Chapter 1: Oh shit, it's narration time

   Click click click…

 

The sound of my snappy polished dress shoes against these filthy, filthy streets
reverberates through the crime-filled alleys and backroads of the foul-smelling rat den calling itself
New York city… September 25th, 5:23 PM…

 

   Discarded papers and trash rustle over the metal bars of a sewer grate. A highly impatient gentleman shouts at a cab that sped past him. Shortly after, a gruff restaurant owner shoves a client out the door and tells them never to show their face in his establishment again. At least, that’s what it sounds like. The cunning detective has become quite good at inferring these things after all.

 

I find myself recording this message in response to recent circumstances at my place of work;
my suspicions have risen and my guard has been up. Any perp who, by way of extreme misfortune, happens to cross my path can expect to
learn the true meaning of justice… Starting with the guy who stole 5 bucks out of the cash register.

 

   There is a distinct buzz as a keycard is used to open the front door of an apartment building. The door creaks as it opens. She wipes her shoes thoroughly on the doormat.

 

I find myself back at my hive. A bit rough around the edges. Could do with some dusting. But after a year I can consider it a home.
I would like to say I’ve become quite well-adjusted to living in a human apartment building. Judging by what I’ve seen, I might be more
well adjusted than some of my neighbors. Some of these city folks act like they were raised in a barn. Reminder to routinely investigate the halls for anything out of the ordinary. Can never be too cautious... I open the door and ascend the stairs at 5:28 PM. I can sense an inviting aroma from above. Now who could possibly be cooking?

 

   The stairs also creak as she ascends them. She previously needed to tap her cane on the old wooden steps, but she feels familiar enough to forgo this precaution. Voices can be heard through the thin walls; neighbors arguing, laughing, watching movies. She never speaks to them unless something unusual comes up, but she is always acutely aware of their presence.

 

It seems quieter than usual today. Especially for a Friday. While I could normally claim that this is
a suspect change to the status quo, I could chalk this up to a simple case of people being out to watch a human sporting event.
Reminder to investigate further when I have time… I reach the top floor and pull out my keys, cleanly and efficiently unlocking the door and
greeting whatever visitor has been cooking while I was away.

 

   As she narrates, it is clear to hear that she is fumbling with the keyhole. She fumbles for a while before managing to get the blasted thing open. Greeting her nose is the succulent aroma of chicken. A whole chicken at that: being roasted in her oven as a side dish is prepared on her stove. Her nose was overwhelmed by the meaty savor, making it difficult to smell exactly who was cooking it. After sifting through the scents, though, she could detect an unmistakable candy red. She grins widely, licking her shark-like teeth.

 

End of recording. Over and out. 5:30 PM.

 

   That shade of red makes her heart flutter with the memory of a long, fulfilling matespriteship which has since cooled off to a more pale affiliation. Terezi puts down her cane and meanders slowly towards Karkat. She reaches out and runs her fingers along the ruffles of his, no… her frilly pink apron. One that she had bought for her little crabbymuffin when they were still flushed crimson. Can't call her a little crabbymuffin anymore, though.

   “Oh! Hi, Terezi,” Karkat is caught a little off guard by the sudden brush.

   “Not gonna welcome me home?”

   “Ugh. Welcome home, hubby,” She grumbles.

   “Just how I like it.”

   “Do I really have to keep calling you that?”

   “I mean if you really hate it, you don’t have to… But I think it’s fun.”

   Terezi ruffles her moirail’s hair and spins back around to hang up her jacket and hat on the coat rack. As she pauses to do this, she notices that something feels a little odd in the house. She suddenly puts her finger on it. She leans back, trying to look behind herself at Karkat as she smooths down the sleeves of her jacket, “You seen Gams lately?”

   “I don’t keep track of that junkie anymore,” Karkat answers rather bluntly.

   The aspiring detective sighs and hikes up her pants before deciding to snoop around her apartment on her own. She crouches down and combes across the floor for clues. Empty cans lie about around the couch; definitely untidy but not very informative. She makes a note to clean those up later. The couch cushions are filled with the regular suspects: three different remotes, about 15 dollars and 38 cents in small bills and change, and a myriad of loose buttons, puppet fluff, and various sharp objects ranging from box cutters to a pair of shiny silver knitting needles. No signs of Gamzee, though. She wanders in circles until coming to a stop at the fridge. She runs her hand over it almost absent-mindedly. Apart from the regular magnets, there feels like something taped to the door. She is rather disappointed in herself for not expecting Gamzee to leave a note. She tears it off and, just as she’s about to taste the surface, she stops herself.

   Unlike in her formative years, she now had the sense to avoid putting objects of unknown origin in her mouth without a moment’s thought. She turns to Karkat, feeling ever so slightly indignant. “What, uh… what does this say?” She extends it towards the other troll.

   Karkat squints at it, “Out… to… get… Faygo… signed Gamzee… Damn, his handwriting hasn’t gotten any better,” She reads strenuously. A cursory inspection of the fridge reveals that there is already Faygo lining the bottom shelf, just as the cunning inspector predicted. Seems like the culprit might be doing something a little less savory with his time out of the house. Terezi scratches her chin as she ponders what could possibly be so bad that he would have to concoct an obvious lie to avoid telling her. Karkat groans audibly and slides over to the kitchen table, falling into a chair.

   “I don’t even know why you bother dealing with this guy,” She complains out of the blue, making Terezi suddenly pause her ponderings.

   “Well who else is gonna do it?” Terezi prods her shoulder with a sharp claw as she joins her in sitting down.

   “Ouch… fair,” Karkat hisses and rubs her arm.

   “Looks like we’ve traded responsibilities. Now I know what you’ve been dealing with.”

   “And now you see why I gave up?”

   “Not really. Feels like a welcome challenge to me. It’s like a game of cat and mouse.”

   “He’s less of a mouse, more of a timebomb.”

   “Not if you know how to handle his outbursts in a constructive way. Besides, 'cat and timebomb' doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.”

   “Well… I guess you do you.” There is a contemplative pause before Terezi interrupts the silence with: “Wanna know something funny?”

   “My expectations are low… but shoot.”

   “Gamzee actually tidies his room sometimes. You wouldn’t expect that, would you?”

   “Nope. Nor do I believe it.”

   “I mean it’s definitely not clean by any means, but he’s been one of the more organized roommates I’ve had, all things considered. I mean Dirk didn’t even take any of his stuff with him when he ditched the place.”

   “Well gee whiz, Sherlock, who knew going off of the drugs would make someone’s living space a bit less of a wreck?”

   “I don’t think it’s that. I think he might be trying to suck up to me or something.” Karkat is silent for once. Terezi continues, “I’ve never actually seen him do it, I just notice that when I’m getting particularly fed up with his antics, his room just kinda… comes together. He even vacuums.”

   “What exactly are you getting at here?”

   “Nothing, it’s just something I’ve noticed. Maybe if I start scolding him, he’ll start picking up his empty cans and washing the dishes,” Terezi manages to squeeze a chuckle out of Karkat. The two of them talk about the clown’s habits for a while longer, then they get into gossiping about their other friends, then after that they dig into recent exploits and activities. “So there I was, cleaning up the shop,” Terezi gets into the action of her wild story, “When suddenly…”

   “Let me guess, some big thug bursts in. The same big thug you have been tracking down for weeks. The one who has been stealing from the cash register. And you make him roux the day he ever thought he could leech the rightfully-earned funds of the 8th-street mattress emporium,” Karkat’s eyes lower in an unimpressed stare.

   “Hey! I was gonna get to that part,” Terezi snaps her teeth and gives a little grumpy frown, “Now I gotta start over.”

   “Hold on. Do I smell something?”

   “Yeah, your gravy has been burning for the past, err… five minutes I’d say?”

   Karkat's eyes widen and she scrambles over to the stove in a panic, evacuating the pot of acrid tar-colored gravy to the sink while plugging her nose.

   “The chicken too,” Terezi crosses her legs.

   “Oh fuck me. Seriously??”

   She opens the oven, getting a faceful of smoke before slamming it closed and sinking back into her chair, pinching the bridge of her nose in a deeply disappointed scowl. “Don’t sweat it. I was distracting you,” Terezi reassures her.

   “Yeah! Fuck you too!” Karkat takes a few deep breaths, “Ok, ok, it’s fine, I can just order takeout and bring it back.”

   She gets up and starts fishing around the countertops for her keys. Terezi scratches her chin and thinks a little longer about her missing roommate. Karkat notices this and raises an eyebrow.

   “I know you’re not coming up with an apology over there,” She remarks.

   “Just buy dinner for yourself.”

   “Hm?”

   “I’ve got something else planned.” Karkat isn’t entirely sure what that means, but she’s never gotten anywhere questioning Terezi’s plans. She turns back and opens the door but, as she’s about to leave, she gets a peck on the cheek from her moirail.

   “See ya later, crabby.” An unusual gesture considering the relationship, but not an unpleasant one. She heads out and Terezi is left alone again. Putting her hands on her hips, she looks over the house. Or, well, smells over it, while grinning ear to ear.

   “Shit. Shoulda made her clean the kitchen before she left.”

***

Chapter 2: Now that that's out of the way

   Terezi wipes sweat off of her brow and neatly folds the designated kitchen towel, putting it back in its drawer. That took a while. She takes the clock off of the wall and traces the hands, realizing it’s already after 6:30. If Gamzee was already out of the house before Karkat got there - which probably would have been around 5 - then uh… carry the one… he’s been out for too damn long! If this were 10 years ago, Terezi would be snooping around to triangulate him, but New York seems a little bit larger than the meteor. Large enough to make snooping a supreme waste of time.

   She lifts her wrist, fiddling with the buttons and knobs on her digital watch to set a timer. If that clown isn’t back in… 20 minutes, she’ll organize a search party. Nah, too much work. She’ll just give him a stern talking-to over the phone. *Beep* 19 minutes, 59 seconds and counting. *Phew* Now she has some more time to kill. She needs a change of clothes.

   Now this is much better. Being a lover of color-coordination, she has picked a black and red checker-pattern jacket with a black shirt and red tie to match. Underneath are some form-fitting slacks - slim at the knees and flared out towards the ankles - and a pair of platform boots which she will put on later. Can’t risk tripping on something in her cluttered apartment. She slicks her hair back, spiking it up a little on top, and gives herself finger guns in the mirror. Terezi’s fun game of dress-up is short-lived, though, and the timer is only halfway through. Maybe 20 minutes was too long. Well, no use standing around tapping her foot. She brushes past the bathroom door and slinks down the hallway. Even though she knows there’s nobody here, she loves the feeling of being in stealth mode. First door on the right is her room. Second is Gamzee’s. The second door on the left side is yet to be claimed. Well, unless you count the piles of junk as tenants.

   Terezi sighs. As proud as she is that her friends are becoming more independent, she kind of longs for the days when they were all living off of each others’ couches and pull-out beds. It doesn’t help that she gets near constant reminders of their residence. It helps every once in a while to explore the unused room, if only to look around; sorting it is a fool’s errand by now. Her hand goes for the shiny bronze doorknob, but she hesitates for a few seconds. Is she scared of digging through junk? She pushes past her nerves and pushes the door open, but immediately has to jump back as something heavy and metallic falls to the floor an inch in front of her. She reaches out to feel the unidentified object. A katana has wedged itself between the floorboards, simultaneously giving her a heart attack and adding yet another 150 bucks to her repair bill if she decides to sell the place. This is one of the… less creative pranks the Striders have pulled. She scoots around it cautiously.

   The room is entirely filled with similar blades decorating the walls. Terezi has always found it a bit tacky, but she’s not expecting any high-class guests so there’s no point dealing with it. She steps over puppets and plushies of various shapes and sizes before making it to the big wooden desk in the corner. The desktop used to be polished regularly until it became so cluttered that she could no longer get to it. She feels the mess. Lots of heavy objects - some dusty, some oddly sticky - but there’s something large and smooth underneath. Removing the various tools and spray cans, Terezi finds a large sheet of laminated paper. Smells blue. Aha! One of Dirk’s blueprints. Why would he have left it here, though? Ooh, maybe it’s a canceled project of some kind. What could possibly be so complicated, or expensive, or deadly that he would refuse to finish it? She just has to know now…

   Dirk was nice enough to leave a bottle of disinfectant spray on his desk just in case. A few quick puffs and the blueprint is… well it’s safe enough. The document’s surface has gained the abhorrent flavor of hand sanitizer, but it’s a fair price to pay for not getting sick. The surface is still just as readable either way. Hmmm… the robot appears to be in a suit of some kind, standing tall, wearing a monocle, and holding a feather duster. Definitely a butler-bot 3000. Apart from the very fancy, stylistic outer shell, its internals don’t seem so intricate as to be impossible. Disappointing, it looks like Dirk just gave up on this one. Maybe something more important came about and he had to leave it behind. There’s some writing on it too. The robot was actually supposed to be a collaboration between him and… Equius. Called it! It was designed to keep the art pieces in the Zahhak gallery clean and presentable. That’s probably the reason it was discarded. That gallery was way too costly to ever be a viable business effort. Well, nonetheless, the robot is still a fascinating piece of machinery.

   As Terezi continues to inspect the mechanisms, admiring the fine detail work on all of the gears and wires, she feels her wrist vibrating and her watch beeps again. Time’s up. She neatly places the blueprint back down (no need to make things more messy than they already are) and makes sure all of its paperweights are where she found them as a courtesy. She punches in Gamzee’s contact on her watch, which she has committed to memory like all other phone numbers, and her finger inches towards the call bu--

 

KNOCK knock KNOCK knock

 

   Well, well, well. If that’s who she thinks it is, then his timing has become frightening. She turns off her watch, scoots past the wedged katana again, and cautiously makes her way to the front door, where the knocking has become a little more insistent. Terezi almost hopes it's just one of her other friends checking up on her. She unlocks the deadbolt and the door slowly swings wide, giving her an unmistakable whiff of purple. Gamzee stands there, frozen, a neutral expression plastered on his face, with his fist still raised to knock again. Terezi blinks at him, he blinks back. He tucks his shaky hand back into his pocket, tightly gripping a white plastic bag with his other hand. He’s not even using the handles, just digging his claws into the side. Terezi doesn’t know what to say, hoping that he’ll speak up first.

   “You see my note?” He mutters. Terezi nods silently. “Are you mad at me for something?” Terezi stays silent. Gamzee inhales audibly through his nose, “Pretty late.”

   Terezi  decides she needs to inspect her roommate just to be safe, so she grabs his free hand and pulls him in. She can feel a minute flame in her chest from the still-crackling coals of their ex kismesissitude as she takes it all in.

   Face and hands first, always face and hands first, since they are the most expressive and can paint the best picture of someone’s state. She gently traces her fingers down from the top of Gamzee's forehead to his chin and he does his best to keep still out of politeness. He has stopped painting his face for some reason, but that has been the case for weeks. His eye bags are more persistent than ever, but that’s because he’s one of the few trolls who has stubbornly decided to stay (for the most part) nocturnal on a planet where the sun isn’t dangerous. No cuts or bruises on his exposed skin. His hands are shaking out of nervousness, but it might just be because his roommate is feeling him down. No matter, now to his clothes.

   Fishnet, lots of fishnet peeking through the holes in his tattered outfit. Terezi isn’t sure if the holes are on purpose or not. What used to be an oversized shirt has become a ripped crop top with striped sleeves which, along with his sagging pants, exposes quite a lot of midriff. Maybe she’s just never paid attention before, but she realizes he has a very noticeable dip in his waist, making his fairly average hips feel a lot wider than they actually are. Terezi has to stop herself before she gets lost in the contours of his toned stomach. Wrenching her hands away from Gamzee’s body and back into her pocket, she gets back on topic with a half-honest answer to his previous question, “I don’t mind you staying out late, you know. Just… maybe pester me about it. I want to make sure you’re safe.”

   “That’s uhhhh… fair,” Before Gamzee can say another word, Terezi cuts him off. “What’s in the bag?”

   The clown stops in his tracks, “What bag?” He hides it behind his back. Terezi makes an incredulous, almost insulted face. Is he joking or something?

   “What did you… buy… while you were out?” She gets a little closer and he backs away.

   “Faygo. Like I told you.”

   Terezi smiles and wags her finger, knowing she has the upper hand on this one, “We already got it in the fridge. Enough to last the rest of the week, even at your pace.”

   “Silly mistake?” He attempts to shake Terezi off of his case, knowing that she won’t accept defeat when she has such damning evidence.

   “Just show me.” Gamzee’s hands shake and his face shifts into a snarl. He resigns to taking the bag from behind his back, “When did you get all fuckin’ intrusive?”

   Terezi snatches it before he can finish his sentence and opens it. Looks like a couple of… metal cans? The hell? She mutters.

   “It’s not-- what you think it is…”

   “Yeah, I know sopor slime doesn’t come in cans.” An inspection of the labels reveals that they’re cans of… key lime pie filling…

   “It’s a, uh, good substitute. Less… dangerous,” Gamzee tries to explain.

   Terezi groans, wanting to go on a rant about how insanely unhealthy it is to eat whole cans of pie filling, but there are more important matters. Dinner in particular. She tosses the bag onto the countertop and brushes her hands off, forgetting about it. The other troll continues to stand, slightly hunched, staring at her because, quite frankly, he has no idea what else to do.

   “So… that explain why I was out?” He tries to say before getting cut off again.

   “Hush,” Terezi puts up a finger and composes herself, “How do you feel about… going out to dinner?”

   Gamzee looks over his outfit and tries to compute the request.

   “Don’t worry, you look great. I can put together a different outfit if you’d like, though.”

   The clown continues to compute, still flabbergasted.

   “Besides, you look hungry. I’ll buy you something tasty,” Terezi waits patiently for an answer.

   “I can, uhhh… try my best?” Gamzee promises.

   “Good boy.”

   That line really makes him freeze and squint at Terezi. This is supremely out of character for her. He’s not sure if she’s mocking him or not. But if she is, that would really get his blood boiling. His stunned silence is immediately replaced by a full 180-degree subject change by his roommate.

   “Ok, let’s get you dressed,” She takes him by the arm and whisks him into his room.

 

***

Chapter 3: Dinnor... Yum

   Gamzee fidgets with his blindfold, trying to get it to stop irritating the bridge of his nose, only for Terezi to once again chime “No peeking!” as she folds the bottoms of his pant legs into cuffs and tightens the laces on what he assumes are boots. The process takes about another minute before he is finally granted permission to look at his roommate’s handiwork.

   “Soooo… how do you like your outfit?” Terezi leans over his shoulder. He pulls up one of the spaghetti straps on his top, which is a shiny, almost reflective gold color, and has a very deep v-neck. A little revealing, but in a classy way. The top is tucked into some oversized high-waisted jeans that are cinched tightly around his waist with a woven belt to accentuate his slim midsection and bulk up his thighs slightly. The jeans are faded and ripped at the knees. Of course, his favorite part is the boots, which are huge and heavy-looking with thick platforms and a shark tooth pattern at the seam. Delightfully clownish.

   “It’s uh… I like… well,” Gamzee starts. He reaches up and feels his bare shoulders, already shivering a bit with the thought, “Isn’t it a bit too cold for this?”

   Terezi scratches her chin and looks him up and down for a second. She ducks out of the room, leaving Gamzee to keep adjusting his outfit over and over. Grinning excitedly, she shoves herself back through the door and thrusts a knitted garment into the other troll’s arms.

   He holds it up and lets it unfurl, noticing a pattern of cherries and carnations along the edge. Two bright tassels dangle off of it, which the clown taps at with his fingertip, cocking an eyebrow at the lavender fabric.

   “It’s a shawl,” Terezi throws it over his shoulders and ties up the tassels in the front.

   Gamzee seems a little bit more content with this addition to the outfit. It’s at least better than nothing in terms of keeping the cold air off of his shoulders. His roommate seems… strangely happy about it as well. It makes him wonder who knit it in the first place.

   “Good? Good,” Terezi starts to drag him towards the door, “I’m starving.”

   Gamzee raises a tentative hand, going to stroke the soft yarn, but Terezi swats it away before his unkempt claws can get close to it. His eyes widen a bit and he stumbles, feeling his heart thump and his blood get hot. His teeth reveal themselves, but he doesn’t have time to get angry before the two of them make it to the stairs. By the time they’re out of the front door, he has had ample opportunity to avoid a disastrous mood swing.

   The sky is already black, with all but the brightest stars tending to steer clear of the New York area, but the multitude of headlights and streetlights keep everything as bright as day. It’s definitely safer than walking around in the dark, but for someone like Terezi, the constant faint sensation of the lights make it hard to tell if it’s day or night, especially with the relatively weak sunlight on earth. She’s not the only one who gets disoriented, though. Being nocturnal will make anyone feel a little out of their element adapting to human sleep schedules, which most trolls have done in order to fit in. About 3 blocks into the walk, Terezi is regretting her choice of footwear. But that’s when she remembers some very valuable information.

   “Hey, Gams. You’re god-tier, right?” She distinctly remembered his stupid bard outfit.

   Gamzee’s face freezes and he visibly chokes, but keeps walking, “Uhhhhhh… a hundred fuckin percent, dude, why you ask?”

   Terezi cocks an eyebrow, “So it’d be no problem to, I don’t know, fly us to the restaurant?”

   “Not one bit. Which way?” He tries not to make eye contact.

   “Oh just a little southeast of here. It’s about a mile away if I remember correctly.”

   “That’s chill, that’s chill,” Gamzee stops and finally looks at the other troll, staring her down waiting for her to do something. When she doesn’t, he speaks up again, “Uhhh… hop on?”

   “Oh, right,” Terezi walks behind him and pushes on his shoulders, hoisting herself up. He reflexively wraps his arms under her knees. She’s not heavy, considering his strength, but she throws him off balance and he stumbles a little.

   “Does this work?” She asks.

   Gamzee grunts in approval. It must have been years since he ever carried someone like this. The pair must look quite silly like this.

   “Alright. Take off,” Terezi urges him on. He panics internally, but comes up with an excuse, “It don’t work like that.”

   “Oh really?” Terezi leans in and uses a coy, exaggerated tone.

   “Yeah. I gotta prep first, ya know,” He justifies, “The conditions gotta be right and all that.”

   “I suppose the conditions are all wrong right now?” Terezi asks sarcastically.

   “Yeah. Unfavorable winds and shit. Different gravity than I’m used to.”

   The detective is keenly aware that Earth’s gravity is no different than Alternia’s, and that there isn’t any wind at the moment, but she forgoes reason to play along with the clown.

   “The stars are outta wack too. Shit’s all motherfuckin unfavorable right now. Ain't no way I can fly like this.”

   “I see, I see,” Terezi nods scholarly, “We can walk then.”

   “Yeah, yeah, totally.” There is another long, awkward pause.

   “Are you gonna put me down?”

   Gamzee chokes again and drops the other troll. She catches herself - rather ungracefully - and brushes herself off.

   “Thanks for trying,” She pats him on the back.

   A little impatient, Gamzee lunges forward and starts walking again, not wanting this awkward standing around to last any longer than it already has. After a brief moment of clarity, Terezi remembers why the two are walking in the first place and scrambles after the other troll. The two of them pick up the pace to make up for their little distraction and get to the restaurant reasonably close to schedule. This certainly isn’t a reservation-type establishment, but it has a classy air about it. A human greeter with an adorable vest invites the two trolls in and leads them to one of the few empty tables, sliding menus in front of them. The tablecloth has the classic picnic cloth pattern used by so many restaurants, and the chairs are nice smooth wood with a wicker seat. It’s a rather homely joint. Gamzee runs his fingers through his curly mess of a hairdo and squints down at the menu, “These aliens really have a way of makin’ all their food sound gross,” He comments as the Greeter walks away.

   Terezi leaves her menu closed, choosing instead to just take in the various aromas floating through the room and pick out what smells the best. She perks up when she hears Gamzee’s question, “Oh! I can order for you if you want.”

   “Thank fuck. Ain’t no way I’m deciphering this mess,” He shuts his menu and slides it away, looking around at the other patrons.

   Well-to-do couples squawk about the latest news in haughty voices and haughtier outfits, making him scrunch his nose up in distaste. They sound like the troll aristocracy, just more annoying. Here he was thinking that things would be different on a whole new planet, but everything just brings up sour, moldy memories of his home. As all of this reminiscing begins to make him nauseous, Terezi calls over a waiter. She starts spouting French food items with almost barely convincing pronunciation, impressing the employee. Maybe Gamzee would be impressed too if understood what she was saying. All he could think was that she sounded like a toad with a sore throat.

   “What was that?” He asks as the waiter gets out of earshot.

   “Oh, you’ll see. It’s gonna be tasty.”

   He grumbles a little and leans back in his chair, lazily dangling an arm over the back. He has known Terezi long enough to know that she only uses that voice when she’s about to pull something funny. He just can’t figure out what it is this time.

   Gamzee reaches across the table and plucks a bread roll out of the basket. Just as he’s about to lean back and eat it in one bite like a duck, he feels a sharp pain in his leg. Did she just kick him under the table? He drops the roll and it is expertly caught by Terezi.

   “What in the motherly fuck was that for,” He hisses quietly, suppressing the urge to scream in retaliation.

   “First of all, don’t just reach across the table. You could knock something over. Ask nicely and I’ll give you some bread.”

   Gamzee is practically steaming right now, wondering what kind of sick game his roommate is playing on him.

   “Second of all, sit upright. It’s more polite.”

   The clown is now seconds away from climbing across the table and taking the whole basket for himself. It’s been a long time since someone has had the guts to speak down to him like this.

   “Listen. You’re not on Alternia anymore. Blood doesn’t matter. You can’t just do whatever you feel like,” Terezi points out, instantly making the other troll pause.

   He takes in shaky breaths and taps the table with his claws, “I suppose that’s a good point,” He makes a great effort to straighten his back, but a look of disdain is still plastered on his unpainted face, “I’ll… humor you…”

   “So would you like some bread?” The detective’s face lights up with a grin of sheer victory. Gamzee has to practically force his jaw to move and contort as he vocalizes this unfamiliar phrase, “Yes… please…”

   “That’s more like it,” Terezi daintily places the roll into his awaiting hand. This is going to be a delightfully fun night.

   The two of them wait for a surprisingly long while for their food. The restaurant does seem kinda busy today, after all. Terezi twirls her fork placidly while gazing at her… friend? Moirail? Kismesis? Regular old roommate? The lines are blurring a bit as she stares at him. She admires his straightness of his jawline and the sharpness of his teeth as they tear into yet another roll, as well as the wrinkles of his furrowed brow as he is deep in thought. It makes her burn and crackle with the desire to put another furious snarl on his face. But at the same time, she can’t help but describe him as almost adorable? Well, no need to fit these feelings into a neat box right now. They’re just in some vague place on the quadrant chart and that’s right where they need to be. The time for questioning relationships is cut short, though, as two plates of food and a large bottle of wine are slid in front of the two trolls. One plate is a rich, deep red stew with beef and carrots and all manner of mouthwatering ingredients, and the other is a plate of white rice and chicken dressed in a creamy, decadent sauce, and garnished with tiny green herbs. Terezi thanks the waiter with a gracious, over-pronounced “Merci” and he gives a little bow before dashing back towards the kitchen. She grins devilishly as she drapes her napkin over her lap, knowing exactly what she’s just done.

   Gamzee holds his head in his palm as he picks up a piece of meat between two fingers, sniffing it and grimacing, “Is this fuckin cluckbeast? I must‘a got someone else’s food.”

   “What’s wrong, Gams?” Terezi takes a polite little bite of mushroom. The clown grumbles and forces a sarcastic “Ha ha ha… You know exactly what’s fuckin wrong.”

   “Don’t be a picky eater. Just taste it, I’m sure everything they make here is great.”

   “I’m not gonna choke down a single bite of this motherfucki--” Gamzee is cut off by another, even firmer kick in the shin. He winces and clutches his fork, “V-very well then…” He stuffs the dripping chunk into his mouth and, well, chokes it down.

   “Now was that so bad?”

   “Of fucking course it was,” He winces from yet another kick.

   “Would you like some of my food?”

   “Don’t you dare…”

   “Ask nicely.”

   Gamzee places his fork down quietly on the napkin and pulls a chicken bone from between his teeth, wiping his mouth off on his forearm. He closes his eyes and tries to compose himself before finally regurgitating another “May I please have a bite of your food,” in the calmest tone he can muster.

   “Now isn’t that just precious,” Terezi coos. She gets a big forkful of beef, still dripping with meaty stew, giggling under her breath as Gamzee practically froths at the mouth in anticipation. “Here, have a bite,” She extends her arm towards him.

   He tilts his head, “You’re not gonna make me…”

   Terezi nods slowly. He moans annoyedly and leans forward, refusing to make eye contact as she feeds him using her own utensil. She is overjoyed at his simmering rage, hidden behind his partially-lidded eyes and sternly-lowered brow. He yanks his head back as quickly as possible, tossing hair out of his eyes and continuing to look away as he chews.

   “Is it good?” The giddy detective asks, almost singing. Gamzee nods silently, arms folded. “Perfect. Isn’t this just lovely…” She rests her chin dreamily on her curled fingers. The clown stares at his food and pokes at it tentatively. He guesses as long as he eats around the chicken, it’ll be ok. The sauce is acceptable.

   “I’m guessing you want another bite of my food, don’t you?”

   “What are you playing at, motherfucker?”

   “You know, it looks better when people look like they’re having fun. Your sour attitude is reeeeally ruining the mood for the nice people here.”

   “Do you want me to do a little fuckin song and dance to appease these gluttons?”

   “Let’s say it might make me a little more generous,” Terezi is going for the metaphorical gold in this game of wits.

   “Then I’m not hungry.”

   The two of them go silent for a second until Gamzee’s growling stomach interrupts them, “Ok maybe a little bit…”

   “Just give the people a nice smile so they don’t think you hate it here. Maybe flutter your eyelashes a bit.”

   “You want it to look like we’re on a love-date?”

   “Well people probably already think we are. You’re just making it look like we’re one of those couples who hates each other.”

   “What’s bad about that?”

   “Most humans don’t even know what that is.”

   “I’m not gonna pretend we’re a couple of pailmates just to appease these xenophobic slobs.”

   Without another word, Terezi gets a juicy chunk of beef on her fork and holds it up enticingly. Gamzee can’t ignore his mouth watering for much longer. He bolts upright in his chair, cracking his back and rolling his shoulders, then straightens his hair and perks his lips a bit. Maybe some of this strange, malodorous purple liquid all the humans are drinking will help. He grabs the whole bottle and, to Terezi’s horror, gulps down about half of it. Much better… With great effort, he curls his face into a pleasant, mildly flirtatious smile and leans forward, making full eye contact with his roommate as he takes another bite. She smiles back at him, fanning herself in excitement. Clearly, the alcohol has helped his acting skills. Just in the middle of this faux-courtship, the waiter returns, “Sorry to bother. Can I get you two lovebirds anything else?”

   Gamzee scrambles back into his chair and crosses his legs, smiling at the waiter like nothing just happened. Terezi giggles coyly and waves her hand dismissively, “Nothing right now. Come back with the check when you can, though.”

   He gives another little bow. Holding a napkin to his face, Gamzee hisses at who he is now 90% sure is his spiteful, hate-inducing unlover, “You are never making me do that ever again. Not in a million fuschia lifetimes.”

   “Don’t make a scene. You might get us kicked out,” Terezi whispers, still smiling so that nobody suspects a thing.

   “Maybe I want that.”

   “Maybe you wanna keep that mouth of yours shut before I shut it for you,” She grins wider, brandishing her dainty silver fork like a weapon.

   By now, her tone had shifted to something much more forceful. As she snaps her last few syllables, she notices Gamzee flinch a little and return his napkin to his lap. How fascinating! On one hand, she knows she might have gone a bit too far with her threatening tone, but her heart tells her that she hasn’t gone far enough. Once again, Gamzee picks up the whole wine bottle. Terezi’s face falls into a disappointed scowl as he downs the rest of it in one gulp before clearing his throat and continuing to play along.

“May I have… another bite?” The clown mutters, his hands now tucked defeatedly in his lap.

   Terezi pats the seat next to her, “Why don’t you come closer? It’ll be easier if you’re not all the way across the table.”

   Gamzee tilts his head again. Is she being serious? He squints at her. Seems like it. Quietly, he shifts into the other chair and feels an inviting arm over his shoulders.

   “I hope you’re not too mad about me yelling,” She boops his nose, “Here, I’ll make it up to you,” and hands her fork over to him, clasping his hand around it.

   He takes a moment to pause tentatively. This is a dramatic shift of tone. Well, hopefully the food will distract him from these bizarre circumstances. He leans his head down and sniffs the stew, plunging silverware into it with reckless abandon and opening his maw wide.

   “Politely.” Terezi pinches his ear and he forces a playful chuckle.

   He eats slowly, much slower than he’s used to, sharing with the other troll, until he breathes a sigh of relief at the sight of the check landing in the center of the table. Gamzee requests a doggy bag for the meal, barely over a whisper, and Terezi echoes it at a more suitable volume. She admits that even she is fed up with the stuffy atmosphere in this restaurant. After awkwardly wrangling a stew into a container it certainly wasn’t meant for, the two of them stand and mosey the heck out of there. That was more awkward than it had any right to be, thanks to the actions of a certain someone, but it’s over now. They catch a taxi back to the apartment building and silently agree to try and forget what happened. There’s no way that’s gonna work, though.

 

***

Chapter 4: Phew...

   … Is the sound I would be making if that was going to be the end of the awkwardness in this story, but alas. It is, however, the sound Terezi and Gamzee make upon finally getting back to the apartment building. Terezi slips the taxi driver a 20 dollar bill and lets him keep the change “in exchange for his silence.” He nods nervously and watches the two trolls strut up to the front door before driving away. After silently arguing about who should go in first, they both just squeeze through the door and file up the thin, rickety wooden stairs. Showing how much he drank, Gamzee slips a couple of times going up the flights, but that could have also been due to his choice of footwear.

   Once inside the apartment, Terezi tries to look in her roommate’s general direction as little as possible while hanging up her jacket. Gamzee finds this a little odd, but pretends not to notice as he hangs up his shawl, being careful this time not to let his claws get near it. They stand there in silence for a while, not sure if they should make a casual comment about the night. Terezi begins clearing her throat and--

 

*THUD*

 

   The whole floor shakes as Gamzee suddenly and unexpectedly passes out. Well, not unexpectedly; he did drink an entire bottle of wine. But usually the effects are felt very gradually. Eh, everybody’s different, best not to worry about it. Terezi steps over him to walk to the couch but she stops. Her roommate just passed out, it is not at all best not to worry about it! She scrambles down to a crouch and feels around before her hands find themselves under his armpits. Not the most elegant, but it will work. She drags him, grunting, towards the couch. He feels colder than usual, which is really saying something, and his pusher is pumping with more intensity than usual, which isn’t saying much. He twitches and pants, squirming in his roommate’s grip.

   “Having any bad dreams, lil guy?” Terezi giggles at her own comment, thinking that Gamzee can’t hear her. Oh, what fun, she can make so many snide remarks with no consequences. She quickly starts thinking of another one.

   “Mmmph… so hungry,” The clown mutters through his teeth, catching Terezi off guard.

   “Excuse me?” She tries not to drop him.

   “So hungry I could… gnaw someone’s arm off,” He opens one eye, “Straight through the bone…”

   Well shit, it would appear he’s having his violent nightmares again. The lack of sopor must be getting to him once again. Terezi contemplates for a moment if she should grab the key lime pie filling. No, she shudders to even think about feeding that filth to him. After a couple more arduous steps, navigating around the clutter, she climbs onto the couch and drags him into an acceptable sitting position, leaning into the cushions just enough that he won’t accidentally fall over. His eye is closed again and he’s not saying any more vaguely threatening words. This can go in the book as a win. The victory is short-lived, though, as Terezi’s watch begins loudly emanating All Star by Smash Mouth, a song which might have been just a little funny 10 years ago. Gog, why did she ever decide to make it her ringtone. Gamzee snorts and jolts in his sleep but doesn’t wake up fully. In a panic, Terezi answers the call, which shuts off the noise for the moment, but she soon regrets this as she is now obligated to say something before hanging up, as per the rules of phone calls. She doesn’t even know who just called her, but she’s hoping with all her might that it’s someone quiet.

   “H-hello,” She stutters in as hushed a tone she can muster while still being heard.

   “What are you, hiding in a closet from a monster? This is the most quiet I have ever heard you speak.”

   “Not exactly, but I might be soon if we keep talking,” Terezi hisses in an agitated tone.

   “Boy, you are such a card, TZ. Can I call you T-rex?”

   “Dirk? What the hell? Where are you? And no you can’t call me that.”

   “Point taken. This is the biggest party in Texas if my sources are correct. It is wicked. I am getting so completely fucked up right now. Whoo.” He says all of this, including the ‘whoo’ at a normal volume with a normal tone, which is just how he normally acts, but it never manages to not freak Terezi out.

   “I don’t know if I should believe you. But, fuck, this is not the greatest time,” She scoots to the other side of the couch, as far away from Gamzee as possible, sticking her leg out to keep him at bay if need be.

   “I have no idea what you are talking about. You haven’t acted this lame since I don’t know when. Lighten up, T-rex.”

   “What did I tell you about not calling me that?”

   “I simply cannot remember. This party is just so wicked. I barely know these people.”

   “Dirk what are you talking about?”

   “I am literally the life of the party right now. Everyone wants to hang with THE Bro Strider. It is totally killing out here.”

   “Dirk are you drunk?”

   “You should totally be here right now. You would be so down for this rocking mood. I can’t tell you how cheap these beers are. Because they’re not cheap. They’re free. Hahaha… ha. But seriously. Come check this shit out.”

   “I’m in New York! And you need to get a grip, you sound like even more of a tool than usual.” As she says this, she hears Gamzee sliding across the couch. He casually overpowers her leg strength and starts getting too close for comfort, digging his claws into the cushions. She quickly realizes he isn’t trying to make any unwise romantic decisions in his inebriated state, though, as he opens his mouth and begins inching his sharp fangs towards her skin.

   “So are you coming or not? Hold on, some guy is about to do the most gnarly belly flop right now. I have got to see this,” A fairly mediocre splash comes over the watch’s speakers. Terezi puts her boot on Gamzee’s throat and starts struggling to push him away, “Again! This isn’t the best time!”

   “Holy flipping bananas. That was the most ludicrously egregious flop I have ever witnessed.”

   “In fact,” Terezi grunts as she uses both legs to try and piston the clown off of her, “This might be the worst time possible for you to be calling me.”

   “Sucks for you for not being here.”

   “Fuck! Are you even listening right now?!”

   “Yeah, brosephski. I am all ears for anything you have to get off of your chest right now.”

   “Well there is something big, heavy, and covered in sharp claws that’s about to get ON my chest if I don’t focus. And stop saying ‘right now’.”

   “Point taken, my man. It sounds to me like you are describing the claw-brandishing weight of society. And I can totally relate - on a spiritual level, even - to what you are laying down.”

   As Dirk says this, Terezi’s knees give up on her and she is now being crushed under the claw-brandishing weight of a now murderous clown. To avoid her arm getting gnawed off like he threatened earlier, she grabs an empty can off of the floor and jams it in his mouth. His teeth sink into the metal with a sickening crunch, but at least he’s somewhat disarmed.

   “That’s about the furthest you could possibly be from what I’m actually going through,” she grunts, “Listen, Dirk--”

   “Oh really? Well why not clear things up for me? Just really open up and let it all out.”

   “Dirk! Fuck! I’ll call you back later!”

   “Well at least I tried. It would seem you are deep in whatever struggle is restraining you so I will hit you later. Keep it fresh.”

   Terezi audibly cringes at that last line but Dirk has finally hung up. She turns off her watch and uses that hand to shove Gamzee’s face as hard as possible, which is sadly not enough to make him budge. She kicks, squirms, and punches, but that just results in her forearm being grabbed and squeezed until five sharp claws puncture her thick skin and draw out streams of her delicious-smelling teal blood and an even more delicious-sounding scream. A crooked smile snakes its way across his face as she hits him over and over again. Of course, this doesn’t accomplish much. She revises her efforts.

   She puts a gentler hand on his face, papping him while weakly shooshing him despite her strained vocal chords. Bad luck. He isn’t her moirail anymore. He has gone all the way and steered his feelings as black as tar. No amount of shoosh-paps will be enough to calm this beast. He growls and snarls and squeezes harder and harder until… he passes back out. His head makes a soft thump as it hits Terezi’s collarbone. That was a lot easier than expected, she thinks. If she knew she just needed to wait for the wine to get a second wind, she wouldn’t have fought as much. She puts her palm against Gamzee’s shoulder and pushes. Then she pushes again. She goes for a third time, using all of her remaining strength. Nothing. Not only is the clown just unreasonably heavy, he’s also got one arm and one leg wrapped around the other troll. And just to add insult to injury, now he’s snoring. Like a puppy. If she didn’t hate him so much, and if he wasn’t crushing her ribs, she might venture to say he looks cute like this. No, there’s no time for such silliness.

   Terezi gives a long, drawn out, and indignant sigh as she realizes she’s just gonna have to wait until this bitch wakes up. Her head rolls back against the arm of the couch and she can feel her eye bags already coming back. This is going to be a long night. But it’ll be even longer if she refuses to sleep, she deduces. So, finally, she squeezes her eyes closed and waits for healthy, slime-free slumber to overtake her.

 

***

Chapter 5: Detective Purrope isn't a morning person

Notes:

Warning for sexual reference and an (extra gruesome) description of violence at the end of the chapter

   The morning light hits Terezi’s sensitive skin like searing yellow rays, almost eliciting a hiss if it weren’t for her self control saving the day. She mumbles aimlessly as she hoists her limp body off of the couch, feeling about as heavy as a sack of potatoes, and about as numb as one too. The first thing her nose picks up on is the distinct smell of teal, lots of it, emanating from her sleeve. She feels the sleeve, which has gone stiff as a board and covered in crusty flakes of dried, solidified blood, which crumble off and get under her fingernails. Gross. She pulls her hand away and tries to smell the room for a palate cleanser, but she can’t get even a single whiff of the dried syrups at the bottom of empty Faygo cans. In fact, she can’t get a whiff of cans at all. It’s being covered up, she assumes, by the less-than-flattering stench of her own sweat, which has stained her clothes so deeply that it feels like she’s sloshing around a lukewarm swimming pool whenever she walks. She exhales into her own hand and sniffs, just to test the proverbial waters, but this proves inadvisable as her nose cavity is overwhelmed by a deadly cocktail of peanut butter, rancid lemons, and bleu cheese which she neither expected nor appreciated.

   As she takes a lap around the main room, she notices not only that the sock and shoe are missing from one of her feet, but that the floor has been emptied of any and all trash, and has the dust-free smoothness of freshly swept hardwood. She then puts it together that it is indeed freshly swept hardwood. All of a sudden, Terezi - with her crusty sleeve, her noxious breath, and her soggy undergarments - feels like an unwanted guest within her own home. There’s only one possible culprit for this kind of one-upmanship. Just as she starts to wander where he is, she hears the unmistakable clunk of the shower turning off (she hadn’t noticed the easy-to-miss white noise of the running faucet beforehand) Seconds later, a shiny, moisturized face, topped with fluffy, blow dried hair, emerges from the shower, smelling of lavender. The owner of this face, to add insult to energy, has wrapped himself in one of Terezi’s neatly-striped robes without asking beforehand. He opens his mouth and, before anything aggravating can come out of it, Terezi aggressively shoulders past him and into her room, slamming the door.

   She leaps onto her bed, burying her face in the pillows and moaning all of her exhaustion out. She doesn’t care about finding her other shoe, or changing into something more dry, or having to painstakingly remove large amounts of blood from a nice shirt. All she cares about is getting away from Gamzee’s stupid non-confrontational drawl and his spiteful, grating attitude. Before she can finish suffocating herself in her own comforter, her watch starts to vibrate again and her finger lazily presses the answer button. She was going for the hang-up button, but whatever. It’s not like she’s too busy to listen to someone else talk for a minute.

   “Greetings, Miss Purrope,” The sugary-sweet voice of Nepeta Leijon squeaks out of the speakers. No matter how crackly it is from the low quality of the connection, its saccharine tones never fail to lighten someone’s dismal mood. “I had a feeling you might be interested in joining me and my moirails on a little outing today.”

   “Forgive me if this is just the sleepiness talking, but did you say… moirail s ?” Terezi rubs her eyes in a way that she fears is audible on the other end. She also fears that her own stench is smellable on the other end, but she knows that’s probably not possible.

   “Yessss! You are quite the detective!” It wasn’t that impressive, but she will take a compliment when she can get one. “I am still moirails with Equius, and he is matesprits with Dirk, but we all spend so much time together that we’re practically all in one big moirallegiance with each other!”

   Intriguing. Terezi doesn’t believe that’s how it works, nor does she believe that Equius and Dirk could possibly be compatible, but she’s not the expert here, now is she? Nepeta continues on, uninhibited in her ability to infodump, “I suspect I’m also feeling a little something for Dirk, and he might also be feeling a little something for me. Not to gossip or anything, but he might also be feeling a little something for you. It’s all on my shipping wall. Did I tell you about my shipping wall?”

   Ah yes, the shipping wall that she, with Jade’s help, excavated from the side of a mountain in Appalachia. About 30 tons of reddish-brown stone sitting in the corner of her condo in northern California. Terezi doubts that she still smears it with blood, but it’s a possibility. “So about getting out of the house?” She chimes in, cutting Nepeta off.

   “Oh! That is purrsicely why I called you, yes indeed Miss Purrope. We are a little further upstate than your house, right now, but Equius can drive us down to pick you up in a couple of hours, purrovided you’re able to catch a taxi and meet us at North Riverdale. Then we can do all kinds of fun stuff. There's a state park with an archery range and a hiking trail. Equius wants to watch a game of troll sportsball," (That's a name that sounded perfectly normal on Alternia, but now that I'm used to human dialects, it has a certain distinctly stupid quality to it) "And Dirk found an empty spot that's perfect for robot brawls. Or we can just run around."

   It seems that Nepeta made a bunch of plans that only she would enjoy and she's inexplicably invited her friends along, most inexplicably Ms. Pyrope. She might as well have invited Tavros (pre-robot-legs) to a gym that only has Stairmasters, and zero accessibility ramps, and is also on the top of the tallest hill in town. "Maybe I'll just tag along and watch you guys do… all that," Terezi suggested, her voice hoarce and scratchy as sandpaper, probably from all the screaming she was doing the previous night. She punctuates this particular sentence with a cough.

   "Oh dear! You sound as sick as a baby purrbeast caught in the rain!" Terezi doesn’t have the energy to comment on the inaccuracy of the myth that rain makes you sick. Instead, she panics, suddenly no longer wanting to talk to Nepeta, who might think that she's too infirm to join them on this fun outing.

   "Sorry, I just remembered I'm super busy! See you soon!" Before Nepeta can belt another exclamation of shock and dismay, Terezi ends the call. She pushes herself off of the bed, rubbing her face with both hands and groaning louder than before. She pulls her whole face down and lets go, letting it bounce back into place in a way that she hopes will reset herself. It doesn’t.

   Terezi stepped into the currently unoccupied bathroom in order to do something that would actually reset herself. Setting the shower on the highest heat possible, so high that steam billowed over the curtains like a thick fog, she stepped in and let the top layers of skin melt off. Her nerves screamed at her in retaliation, but she just stayed in. When troll skin is heated, it doesn’t get red marks like human skin, instead it gets covered in a swirling constellation of milky splotches, like a marble countertop when you spill water on it. She stayed there for several minutes, just letting the scalding liquid burn off all of the sticky leftover emotions from the previous night. It does. After that, she flips the knob all the way to the other side, bringing the temperature down to Arctic Sea levels, give or take 20 degrees. She bites her lip so as to not make any shrill noises as the icy water wakes her body up. Her skin regains all of its saturation (if you could call gray saturated) and she feels it tighten around her body. Upon stepping out, she is practically dripping ice cubes onto the tiled floor. She wipes herself down with a cloud-like towel and savores the softness for a moment, before wrapping herself in it and stepping back into the bedroom. Gamzee would have to deal with her leftover clothes for her.

   Terezi changes into what she hoped was a casual outfit. A pair of tight black ripped jeans, with a waistline practically up to her chest and several buttons running down an off-center fly; a pair of heavy boots ringed by shiny silver studs, sharp to the touch; a dark red leather jacket covered in zippers and dangling flaps for her to fiddle with; and a big old teal waist scarf to… tie the look together? She seemed more like a kickass pirate than someone who was about to hang out in a state park with her buddies, but it was certainly a striking and fashionable look. With an hour to spare (accounting for the absurdly long cross-city taxi ride) she makes her way to the door. She is less than pleased to smell the lanky visage of her roommate propping himself up next to the door with a leisurely lean.

   “Oh, is someone going somewhere without inviting m--” Oopsie, before he could finish his sentence, he was cut off by the corner of the door slamming full-force into his nose. Almost instantaneously, a splatter of deep purple gushes out and lands in his hands and on the pristine robe he stole.

   “Bye bye, roomie,” Terezi coos as she shuts the door behind herself and skips down the hallway.

 

It turns out that even after giving herself an hour of travel time, Terezi was still just barely able to catch the big indigo pickup truck of the Zahhak family with a time window that could be measured in seconds. She had to bolt out of the cab in the middle of an intersection and jump into the backseat right before Equius made a left turn. She falls sideways into the seat, landing ass-up with her face on Dirk's not-at-all pillowy abs. After correcting herself and waving politely to her human crash mat, Terezi shuts the door and buckles up, like a normal person would. She thinks it's a bit odd that Dirk is here now after being in Texas just the night before. That's one of the benefits of knowing a space player… and one of the downsides of being a space player: having to chauffeur your friends around to anywhere in the known universe.

   "Are you excited?" Nepeta asks, her expression not fitting in with the other expressions in the car. Dirk sips something out of a to-go cup. Terezi, only slightly wanting to stick her finger in the cigarette lighter, smiles back, "Yeah, yeah I am," and quickly looks out the window, hoping nobody realizes she’s not actually looking at anything.

   The rest of the ride is fairly quiet and majorly boring. New York isn’t exactly known for having captivating scenery next to its highways. That all changes once they get to the state park, which resides in the shadow of a mountain range and has a perfect view of the Hudson River. Like most state parks in the known universe, this one was founded by Jake, and it was easy to see he had left his mark on the scenery. Signs were posted on every other tree warning of giant monstrous wildlife he had imported from other places, guests were offered a complimentary ticket to a gladiatorial combat show on their way in, and he had carved his own ass into the side of one of the mountains. Very classy.

   This shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but when Nepeta advertised an “Archery range,” what she was really advertising was a zombie apocalypse-style horde survival game where the use of a bow and arrows was allowed, but not encouraged. Terezi had to break out her cane sword for the first time in years because not even the spectator’s gallery was safe from all of the battle robots pouring in. She imagined Equius’s hair was flowing majestically as he took aim - something she had always imagined about him, but could never confirm - and that Nepeta was on his shoulders or something like that to get a better vantage point. The only member of their quartet who she could confirm the whereabouts of was Dirk, who had pressed his back up against her and was slashing indiscriminately at the squirming sea of metal arms and legs around the two of them. She could tell he was wearing the most revealing cropped shirt possible, if he was even wearing one at all. His bare deltoids and trapezii were prodding her in a way that she might have found titillating in literally any other situation.

   Eventually the four of them had to be forcibly removed because there were simply no robots left. Terezi could hear Equius skipping jauntily out of the building and saying Excellent fight and Great fun all the while. What was next on the list again? Oh, right, sportsball. Now here’s the thing about Alternian sports: there’s a lot more audience participation than in human sports. Oftentimes, you don’t simply catch a stray flyball; you get turned into a living doughnut after a stray flyball goes through you, or sometimes you are the stray flyball. There are also less rules and regulations, meaning that the stray flyball could be more akin to a soccer ball or a football than a baseball, or more akin to a rock than a ball of any kind. The players had to suit up in suits of armor that weighed more than them, and that’s only if they were a particularly important player. To avoid any unexpected death, Nepeta found a nice spot outside of the stadium atop a large hill where the group could still see the action. If a stray ball went over the fence, it likely would have already careened through three or four torsos, reducing the impact force

   The four of them nonetheless get showered with bits of splattered hot dog (they hoped), shoes and other uniform pieces, and even entire players who had gotten bashed so hard they flew out of the stadium. The only time an actual ball came in their direction, it landed squarely in Nepeta’s crotch. As they all huddled around her to assess the damage, they heard her mutter Best day ever… right before she started dry-heaving. Needless to say, that activity was cut short, and Terezi was able to sweet-talk her way into getting the group away from the state park and into an ice cream shop. Sweet-talking is a bit of an exaggeration, she just had to say ice cream and that did the trick.

   After barely managing to snag a table for two in the back, just to get away from the meowrails for a moment, Terezi leans over her sundae to get in a couple words with good old Dirk. She has some more important things to discuss than shipping or Jake’s dump truck. She starts out with something light, asking, “So, uh… how’s that whole ultimate self thing treating you?”

   Dirk is silent for a long while, smelling of disbelief and lavender perfume. Then it clicks, “If you could see me, you would be acutely aware that this is not my ultimate self. If that were the case, I would not be wearing stockings and a ripped-up shirt.” Terezi did find that part a little odd, but she was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt at least. “The ultimate Dirk might have an explanation that is esoteric in wording, but makes sense once you think about it. I have a better explanation. Seeking total canonical fulfillment is hard. Partying and sleeping your way around the country is easy, and more fulfilling in the moment.”

   Terezi scratches her head, “I see. I guess in the back of my mind, I did notice something was wrong.” She takes a big bite of her sundae and leans back.

   “You assumed we would all be living in mansions or taking round trips around the galaxy by now. That we would all be supercelebrities with godlike powers to alter the natural order of the universe, correct?” Dirk’s voice is honey to her ears, but as sobering as a slap in the face.

   “Something to that effect,” Terezi responds. Subconsciously, she hopes that the more ice cream she eats, the less sober this realization will make her. She stops before she gets brain freeze, “Is this a doomed timeline?”

   “Not doomed. Just different. If it were doomed, Lord English would already have torn us a new status quo, or removed us from the picture all together,” Classic Dirk vernacular is pouring out of his mouth, but it still seems wrong. Terezi feels all but ready to return to the distraction of Nepeta and Equius’s antics. She has the energy for one more question, though. "Why exactly did you decide on joining a polycule with those two?" As she says this, she can distinctly hear them turning over their ice creams like at Dairy Queen and being absolutely distraught as they splat onto the floor, causing the cashier to audibly facepalm.

   Dirk takes another sip of his perpetual to-go cup drink (possibly the same one from earlier), "When I discovered that a satisfying end to my story was unobtainable, at least not for a very long time, I made the decision to learn how to have fun. Maybe that's my narrative purpose in this timeline, to grow into a joke. After resigning to my fate, I made the decision to do the most out-of-character thing possible - joining an open relationship - with the most out-of-character people - Leijon and Zahhak - whose existence I only knew of in passing until after the end of our canon storyline."

   "I thought learning to have fun might involve learning to talk less boring yet here we are," Terezi jokes. Dirk smells highly indignant, but says nothing. "Alright, let's get those goofballs back in the truck before they waste a fourth pair of ice creams."

 

Terezi could not be less enthusiastic about returning home to see Makara's stupid face (unless of course it had two black eyes and three missing teeth to compliment it's broken nose) so she made as convincing a case as possible in favor of staying out a few more hours. The sun's going down! It will be so pretty! All the best movies are showing at this hour! Absolutely nobody will be shopping at Home Depot and we can mess around all we like! All of these suggestions landed with Nepeta, though Equius was less enthused and Dirk wanted nothing more than to go with the majority vote. In the end, sadly, the group decided against the fun option. Not one to go down without a fight, though, Terezi adopts a new strategy.

   "There's enough room at my place for us to just chill for the rest of the night," She suggests the plan most likely to piss off Gamzee, "Plus, Dirk, you left a ton of stuff there. I don't want you to lose any of it."

   The deliberation is intense, but after thirty seconds of very argumentative grunting, the jury reaches a unanimous verdict in favor of the plaintiff. They all climb back into the shockingly blue vehicle and roar off back south. By ignoring every traffic regulation in the book (something that the creators of the world predictably have jurasdiction to do) they make it there in under an hour. Gamzee's ears do not expect the earth-rattling steps of Equius Zahhak to be approaching, and are even more surprised to hear three other sets of steps following them.

   The door swings open, followed by Equius's voice bellowing out a: "Greetings, highblood!" He groans and sinks so far back into the sofa that his head withdraws itself into the robe he's still wearing. Terezi walks right up to him, shit-eating grin stretching coast to coast across her already wide head, and hisses a quieter, more spiteful, "Greetings highblood."

   The four of them make themselves comfortable around the place, stealing some of Gamzee's faygo stash and pairing it with popped kernels, which he can't stand the sound of. This sends him up off of the couch and storming into his room, slamming the door hard enough to knock all the framed pictures off of the walls of the entire floor. Nepeta takes this opportunity to flop down on the couch and chillax, followed by Equius, causing the couch to bow down in the niddle. Before he gets too distracted by these antics, Terezi grabs Dirk's hand and drags him down the hall to his old room.

   "Serious business time," She prefaces before opening the door and bluntly pointing out the elephant in the room… or should we say, "Sword in the floor. Fix it."

   "Ooh, self-reference. Those are rare," Dirk gives a dumb little smile. "Dirk," Terezi scolds. He lets out a defeated whimper. She pinches the bridge of her nose. He runs his finger along the blade and she smells fresh blood, "This sword is from back when I was trying to be regular Dirk and even then it was just a trap." (Which didn't work) "The most useful it could be to me now is if I melted it and sold it for scrap," He licks his finger clean.

   Terezi pats his shoulder, "Maybe you should do that." She moves on to the other end of the room, to the cluttered desk, "Whatever happened to the butlertron?"

   "Que?" Dirk chirps, making Terezi roll her eyes. He picks up the blueprint and scans it over, "Ah, this one. Equius didn't need it (he never ended up finishing that gallery) so I took it and turned it into a sex bot." Terezi lets out a noise somewhere between Hubba hubba? and Gwuh?

    "You can strap a dick to anything, you know," Dirk explains nonchalantly. Terezi shakes her head and groans, "So you're not taking any of this back?"

   "Do you own a paper shredder?"

   Ignoring this, Terezi leans against the open window and breathes in the cool night air. She can tell Dirk is dying to say just one more smart line, but he gives in and decides to enjoy the air with her. He leans up against her, letting her feel his body heat (something foreign to the more cold-blooded trolls) and lets out a long hot breath. He has to wait a couple of minutes before he finally realizes why she picked this particular window to lean out of. Across the street is a jazz club and at just the right time of night, you can hear a clarinet soloist whine out high notes that ache with longing and low notes that drip with sorrow, so pained and frustrated that they carry out to everywhere in a 3-block radius. As impressive as it is, it’s also equally emotionally stirring and, in a way, soothing. You can forget your own struggles and worry about this guy’s struggles. Realistically, one would have to struggle a whole lot to wind up playing clarinet in a jazz club. With this rock-solid narrative clarity hot on his lips, Dirk makes one closing remark, “Maybe that’s where my story will end someday,” and he spins on his heels, yanks the sword out of the floor, and leaves without saying another word

   Nepeta and Equius leave not long after that, after suddenly realizing that they have to drive back to the ranch in Buffalo that they’re staying at over the weekend. Now finally alone, Terezi decides to greet her roommate a second time. She silently opens the door to his room and stalks up to the side of his bed - a task made easy by how deeply he sleeps - to get revenge for the previous night. She delicately lifts his arm, like it could shatter at the drop of a hat, and smells it. It smells purple in the same way that grape soda tastes purple; sweet, superficial, and irresistible. Peeling back the top layer of robe, she begins to lick her lips with anticipation. As scary as the clown is, even he has to admit… she has sharper teeth than him. She plunges her shark’s maw into his forearm and bites down. Hard. His reaction is delayed, as if someone had shined a light in his face to wake him up. He blinks, squinting in the dark, and starts to mumble something. These mumbles grow gradually in volume until suddenly an audible crunch emanates from his ulna. Now he’s screaming, even louder than she was the night before, and his thrashes only serve to worsen the damage that has already been done, and as he rips his arm away from Terezi’s mouth he also rips away large bands of skin and chunks of grape-like flesh, which she spits right back at him before wiping her face off on her sleeve.

   Gamzee, eyes as red as the day he first lost his sopor stash, launches himself out of the bed with an unexpected ferocity, tucking his broken and bleeding arm close to his chest while lashing out with the claws of his good arm. Terezi dodges, using her fully-awakened brain and cool, docile nerves to her advantage. Another swipe and she has already sidestepped him, giving his exposed flank a powerful shove. He is knocked off balance and his head hits the edge of his bedside table with the sound of a coconut getting hit by a baseball bat. Given no choice in the matter, he is forced to submit to concussion-induced unconsciousness and, with no ability to retaliate, gets spit on by the victor. She wastes no time in collecting her belongings and walking out of the door to spend a couple of nights with Karkat. Gamzee has been given enough punishment for one week.