Chapter Text
Oh, no.
This party has Roxy written all over it, despite the formal invitation that you’d received over two weeks ago in the mail had Jane written all over it. Literally. The invitation in question had been printed on light blue cardstock with golden filigree and used the word “cordially”. You thought it looked very fancy. In fact, it’d looked so fancy, you’d messaged her to ask if you should wear a bowtie.
The conversation is still logged on your phone.
JOHN: wow, is this like a fancy party?
JOHN: should i wear a bow tie?
JANE: No, it’s just a regular party! :B
JOHN: i’m wearing a bow tie.
You end up not wearing a bowtie, but you do wear a bowtie adjacent. That means you alchemize a hilarious novelty tee that has one printed below the collar.
It was supposed to be a prank because, even though Jane said it wasn’t that kind of party, you sort of just assumed it was. The two of you are basically the same age, but she’s also your Nanna? And you can’t picture your Nanna throwing an actual party. You’ve always imagined her as more of a quaint tea and cake kinda gal—which is why your faux-tuxedo graphic tee would have been priceless.
But this is a real party with music, and lights, and alcohol, and people, and you look like a total fucking dork.
You watch from behind the rim of your red solo cup as people congregate, splitting off into factions. Dave’s standing with Karkat, leaning in way too close to talk directly into a pointy, troll ear. It’s some typical Dave Strider mumbo-jumbo if Karkat’s scowl is anything to go by. Hm. Kinda hard to tell, actually. He does always kinda look like that.
You scan the crowd again until you find another familiar face.
Rose. She stands next to Kanaya, deep in conversation with a wine glass poised delicately in her hand. The red liquid that she’s swirling around is just water with a little bit of food coloring. You’d watched her mix it back in the kitchen. Rose doesn’t drink anymore. Neither of the Lalondes do.
And that brings you to Roxy.
You find her rubbing circles into Jane’s back while she upheaves the contents of her stomach into a potted fern. You promptly look away. There are some things in life that a guy doesn’t need to see. His nanna puking in a house plant is one of them.
Moving on.
Jake is uproarious as ever, standing on a table, making a dramatic toast to a crowd of people you don’t recognize. You doubt he does either. He looks pretty drunk…and silly! You like that about him though. The silly part, that is. He probably gets into all sorts of crazy shenanigans! If Jake weren’t surrounded by so many strangers, he’d be a strong contender for tonight’s hang-out buddy.
Oh, wait. Jade’s there too!
She turns to you and waves enthusiastically. You wave back. She beckons you over. You pretend you don’t see it. Sorry, Jade. You’ve already made up your mind, that’s too much adventure too soon.
A couple of seconds later, your phone vibrates.
JADE: hi john!!! :)
JADE: i just wanted to tell you that you shouldnt feel bad if the party gets to be too much
JADE: but we are all really glad you made it out!
JADE: just try to have fun
JADE: and make some new friends!!
That’s nice. You wish it were that easy, but you appreciate your sister’s sentiment all the same. When you look back over, she’s already full engrossed with, uh, what appears to be a betting pool? Looks like Jake’s gonna arm wrestle a pretty burly-looking chess dude.
Enough of that. Back to people watching.
Man. There are a lot of people here and you’re starting to feel a little claustrophobic. It’s like Jane extended the invitation to the entirety of Earth-C. You really don’t know half of these people, and not all of them are even people. There seems to be a healthy mix of humans, trolls, and Carapacians. You’re pretty sure you saw a Nakodile and Salamander in the midst of a heated, bubble-blowing debate on your way to the bathroom earlier.
Bottom line, you feel out of place. That’s not anything new. The feeling of disconnect from your friends and family has been sorta an omnipresent force in your life since the game ended. You thought they all felt the same. You were wrong. One hour at this party has given you more than enough evidence for that.
They’re all enjoying themselves and the company of each other, completely carefree.
All but one.
Across the room, Dirk Strider stares you down. You get the feeling, if he weren’t wearing his dumb triangle shades, the two of you would be making some seriously intense and uncomfortable eye contact. It’s nearly impossible to look away. He’s posted against the wall, nursing a can of orange soda, not talking to anyone. Just like you.
Except you’re drinking hooch, not gross Fanta.
And it’s the hooch, not gross Fanta, that gives you the courage to walk over.
“Hey! So, you’re Dave’s bro, right?” you ask, casual and cool.
A rhetorical question. You know that he’s Dave’s bro. It’s true that you’ve been locked in your house for almost three years, but you don’t live under a rock. You live in a nice suburban house, thank you very much.
Still. He doesn’t say anything to confirm or deny your query. The only indication that he’s heard you at all is the slight angle of his head, tilted in your direction. It throws you off, all your casual coolness slipping.
You rub the back of your neck. “I’m John. I don’t think we’ve officially met?”
Back in the doomed timeline, when the constructs of the game were collapsing at the seams, you met a much glitchier version of him. But that hardly feels like appropriate small talk.
He still doesn’t say anything.
“Uh.”
Okay. Apparently, he takes the whole “Strider stoicism” thing to the extreme. That’s cool. He’s looking at you with a curious tilt to his head, one dark eyebrow arched over his shades. You’re close enough to see past the tint, surprised to find a healthy dose of mirth there.
“Sorry if this is weird,” you say because you’re starting to feel like maybe this is weird. “Is this weird?”
He ignores you to pat down his pockets. Front left. Front right. Back left. Back right. But he must not find whatever he’s looking for because he frowns, shaking his head. You watch the whole thing unfold from the sidelines like a creep, shifting from foot to foot.
“Lost your keys?” you ask, smiling nervously. It’s a joke because none of you drive or even have to drive, being gods and all. You recognize that it’s not a very funny one, but you’re still irritated that he doesn’t at least laugh politely.
Under your breath, you mutter, “Tough crowd.”
But to that, he snorts. You think that constitutes as a laugh, maybe closer to a chuckle. Either way, score! You’ve made a breakthrough—oh.
Annnnnnnnd, he’s leaving.
Alright then.
You’re left in the same position you started; awkwardly standing by yourself against the wall. Only, now you’re on the other side of the room. Great.
You drain your cup in three long gulps, grimacing as it slides down your throat. It seems like it takes forever for you to get a buzz these days. Whether that’s because of your god tier status, an innate tolerance, or tolerance you’ve built up while holed up alone in your house, you can’t be sure.
Regardless, you need a refill. Pronto.
In the kitchen are more faces that you don’t recognize. You cut through the clusters of bodies, mumbling half-sincere apologies until you find the hooch bowl. You resist the impulsive desire to dunk your entire head in it. That’d probably be a bad idea for a plethora of reasons. The main one being that you’d get really sticky and gross.
A close second is the potential Earth-C News at Nine headline: John Egbert Has Finally Lost the Rest of His Marbles!
You fill your cup up with the designated ladle like a sensible young man. Then, you drink it where you stand and fill it again. Rinse, repeat times three. By the time you stumble back out of the kitchen, you’re at least feeling a little tipsy. A little more confident. A little more pizazz in your step.
You’re feeling better. You’re feeling good!
Who cares that all your friends have moved on with their lives while you’ve done nothing but wallow in self-pity? Not you! Who cares that you feel like a stranger to all the people you’ve known the longest? No one! Who cares that the only other person here that looked as out-of-place as you felt totally snubbed you?
Once again, emphatically: Who cares?
Not you. Not anyone.
Dirk Strider is an asshole, but you guess you should have expected that, given what you remember about his Beta self. Logically, you know that Dave’s Bro and Dirk aren’t really the same person, just like you know Jane isn’t your Nanna, and Jane’s Dad isn’t your Dad. But you’re slightly drunk and aggravated so, screw logic!
In your back pocket, your phone vibrates again. Fishing it out takes longer than you care to admit. It’s fine. Probably just Jade—
???: Nice shirt.
You frown, squinting down at the screen. The words are starting to blend together. Yes, you know it’s just two measly words, but your glasses are smudged, and your brain is fuzzy. That’s sarcasm, right? You’re pretty sure that’s sarcasm.
JOHN: don’t be a dick!
???: Sure, but I wasn’t being facetious.
???: I find a lot of comedic value in classic irony.
???: In other words, the novelty tee is really doin’ it for me.
You read along, mouthing the words slowly, a scowl growing with every syllable. Orange text. Pretentious vocabulary. Sarcasm dripping from every word. A forced play at a southern accent through text. The irony.
You may not have much hands-on experience with Dirk Strider, but you know enough to make the deduction.
Wow. Now he wants to talk to you?
Nope.
JOHN: hey, jade!
JOHN: so, i did what you said and tried to make a friend.
JADE: thats great john!!
JOHN: and you know those hilarious prank explosions that leave the person’s face covered in soot and their hair all crazy and sticking up?
JADE: im familiar :)
JOHN: well, that’s what happened when i tried!
JADE: oh no!!! :(
JOHN: yeah!
JOHN: thanks for the advice though.
JOHN: i’m sure any other time it would have been really good.
JADE: geeeeeeez im sorry
JADE: :/
JADE: you should go find dave and karkat
JADE: theyre already your friends!!
JADE: and i hear theyre going to play strip beer pong
JOHN: wow, that sounds totally stupid and made up.
JOHN: i’m going to go see what it’s about.
JADE: ok have fun!! :)
There. You just had a whole conversation without texting Dirk back. Now he knows that you’re ignoring him. You pointedly shut your phone off and shove it back in your pocket, making sure to look extra haughty as you do it (just in case he’s watching). He probably isn’t, but whatever. It makes you feel better. Sort of.
Ugh. You don’t know why you even care! Stop it. You don’t.
And if you save Dirk’s number after you’ve holed yourself up in the bathroom to get away from the noise and chaos…
Well. That’s your business.