Chapter Text
Carlos Vantas,
Welcome to Skaia University! We wish you the best of luck in your undergraduate career and welcome you to the ever-growing number of Skaia Sloths. You have registered to live on campus, and our dedicated housing team has chosen your housing for you.
You will be rooming in accessible room 111 in the Derse dormitory building.
You will share a bathroom with SYSTEM ERROR
Skaia University’s knowledgeable and experienced rooming staff have paired you with David P. Strider (Dave). [email protected] / turntechGodhead. You will find basic information about your roommate below, including a picture (if your roommate decided to upload one).
Student Name: Dave Strider
Student Gender: Male
Student Age: 19
Room Requests: First floor, no carpet
Musical Taste: I don’t fuckin know
Interests: Music, Art, Eating, Sleeping
Ideal Roommate: Keep your hands out of my fridge and we should be fine and maybe don’t leave your clothes all over the floor but I really don’t care that much
Comments: I’m bringing my guitar so fuck you
David Strider,
Welcome to Skaia University! We wish you the best of luck in your undergraduate career and welcome you to the ever-growing number of Skaia Sloths. You have registered to live on campus, and our dedicated housing team has chosen your housing for you.
You will be rooming in accessible room 111 in the Derse dormitory building.
You will share a bathroom with SYSTEM ERROR
Skaia University’s knowledgeable and experienced rooming staff have paired you with Carlos Vantas. [email protected] / carcinoGeneticist. You will find basic information about your roommate below, including a picture (if your roommate decided to upload one).
Student Name: Karkat Vantas
Student Gender: Other
Student Age: 18
Room Requests: First floor
Musical Taste: Rock, Instrumental
Interests: History, Film, Reading, Not talking to you
Ideal Roommate: Don’t fucking talk to me and we’ll get along perfectly.
Comments: Please don’t give me some stuck-up asshole as a roommate.
In person, Dave Strider looks just like the shitty, grainy photo attached to his personal information.
Blonde hair that’s been carefully groomed to be messy enough to seem tousled without being truly messy, reflective black aviator shades, and an expression comparable to the dictionary definition of apathy. The only things that didn’t really show in the photo were the freckles dotted across the bridge of his nose and cheeks.
And, even after being in Dave’s presence for all of five seconds, Karkat Vantas gets a very poignant sense of what this Dave Strider is like.
For starters, he’s already set up his side of the room. And, to Karkat’s chagrin, his gaudy decorations will undoubtedly clash with their own more refined taste. Aside from that, Dave already has music going. It’s loud and awful and yet he, from his spot perched atop his low bed, doesn’t seem to care. In fact, when Karkat comes in, he doesn’t even bother to offer anything more than a disinterested wave.
Still, Karkat gives him the benefit of the doubt. They’re sure that Dave has also just endured some awful cross-country trek to this awful nineteenth century hellhole of a school. They set up their side of the room—hang their large, faux antique map (poster) on the wall beside their bed, and display a large Mexican flag nearby.
It’s easy to tell whose side is whose. Dave’s side is more chaotic. Cracked CD covers and unlabeled records are stacked into tall, precarious towers. Various posters displaying musical information—guitar chords and common time signatures, for instance—are plastered on the wall with a poignant haphazardness. Compared to the white cinderblock wall, they’re quite obviously crooked. Perhaps the most damning evidence of the divide between the roommates is the tiny cluster of pills set atop a sporty red wheelchair tucked neatly beneath the desk.
As for Karkat… Karkat takes pride in their side of the room. The flag and the neat little stacks of books that they’ve organized atop the desk. And their laptop. Karkat has always had a soft spot for that laptop—a small, red netbook covered in old stamps from places their father has been to. Columbia, Germany, France, Spain, Mexico (obviously), and Bulgaria are some of their favorites.
Now, after three hours of moving and shuffling things about, Karkat has officially moved in.
Down the hall, they hear the bustling of various people. Strangers and friends greeting one another and, after a few minutes, Karkat turns towards Dave and sighs. They rub the back of their neck as they speak up, “So… You’re?”
Dave responds to this by propping himself up with his elbows. With a wry smile, he quirks a brow high enough for Karkat to see it above the lens of his sunglasses. “Name’s Dave. Email’s wrong. Dead wrong. I told them to change it, but…” He shrugs. “And you’re… Carlos?”
“Karkat,” they correct the problem quickly before forging onwards. “They/them. I’m from the East Coast. You?”
“He/him. Texas. Didn’t you say you didn’t want to talk?”
“Yeah. But I’m bored and I figure we’ll be stuck together for a while.” Karkat shrugs. They brush some of their thick, habitually messy black hair out of their face. “And all the other fuckwits outside are talking. I don’t really want to go into the hall for some fucking soul-crushing campfire bonding session.”
Dave, in reply, smirks. He pushes himself up a bit further, until his back is fairly straight, and scans the room. “You’re not getting out of those, dude. They’ll be everywhere. Don’t you know that the first week of college is basically a massive fuckin’ wall of icebreakers? Icebreaker hell. That’s what it is. We’re looking right at icebreaker hell. And it’s looking back at us.”
“Shit.”
“You know anyone here?”
Karkat shakes their head. They frown. “How the fuck would I know people I haven’t fucking met yet?”
“I don’t know,” shrugs Dave, pulling the wheelchair out from beneath the bed, “You seem like a dude who needs some buddies, though, so I’m going to be a good roommate and hook you up. See, a lot of the people here ended up being some of my old internet pals and…” A brief pause. Dave lifts himself off of the bed and swiftly maneuvers himself into the chair. It’s a singular, swift movement—one where it would take some sort of impossible skewing of time to be able to truly comprehend what’s happening.
And, in return, Karkat frowns. It’s not a voluntary reaction—it’s just a natural reaction to something mildly shocking.
Dave picks up on the change of expression immediately. He shrugs and adjusts himself, lifting his legs by the thigh and repositioning them until his feet rest atop a flat metal piece coated in a layer of black rubber. “Thought you would’ve noticed by now, dude.” He flashes a smile—one that, for some reason, makes Karkat’s heart flutter—and once again quirks his brow. “C’mon. My cousin and her roommate are just down the hall.”
“I… Who?” says Karkat.
“Her name’s Rose.” Another well-practiced, rapid movement. The door handle is pulled down and the door is pushed out. Dave parks himself in front of it to keep it from closing.
The rest of the day is a blur of movement and voices.
Rose is… Pretty. Karkat will admit that much.
She’s got the same freckles and facial structure as Dave and his blond hair. She’s just not their type, though. No; Karkat’s never been one for romance. Sure, it’s nice enough in the books. In real life, though, it’s different.
And Rose’s roommate—Kanaya—her skin is immaculate. Dark brown and smooth and flawless. Her jade green eyes stand out against this like gemstones and her short hair is thick with natural curls. She’s fairly tall. Compared to Dave, she’s a giant. Then again, Karkat can compare themself to Dave and be massive—and they’re little more than five feet tall.
There’s also John and Jade—siblings from the West Coast. Both have shining, straight black hair and naturally tan skin. John’s hair is shorter and messier, though. And, as opposed to Jade’s green eyes, John’s eyes are the color of a clear sky.
And, then, there’s him. There’s Dave Strider.
If there’s one thing that Karkat hates—one thing that burns every possible bridge of patience that Karkat has—it’s people they can’t read. And Dave Strider is just that. He looks perpetually apathetic about damned near everything that doesn’t give his tiny attention span a boner. The shades only make things harder.
Hell, how the actual fuck is it not against policy for him to wear those?
Karkat lets forth a loud, irritated huff. They fall back, flat onto their bed, and stare at the ceiling.
“This is going to be one fucking long year,” they mutter under their breath.