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Taco Tuesday, they said, it would be fun, they said. It’s not even a fucking Tuesday! Your name is Dave Strider and you are so done with all these motherfucking trolls on this motherfucking meteor. Like what in all of the horrorterror’s unpronounceable names possessed them to try to alchemize tacos for Christ sake? Oh that’s right, alcohol, and a mentally deteriorating Rose Lalonde. You scowl from your tiny little corner of the room. You just so happen to be sulking like the big baby you are, ironically of course, as everyone else chatters happily over those disgusting imposters masquerading as Mexican cuisine. Somewhere on the other side of the room there’s an old record player playing horrible imitation mariachi music, and you think you saw the Mayor scampering by wearing a sombrero. Man do you love that guy. Regardless, you remain in your corner, blissfully alone in your sulk-itude.
The reason behind your shitty teen-angsty attitude, was not for only ironic shits and giggles, but also because you are painfully homesick. Believe it or not, spending a little over two years away from almost all human civilization, and putting up with these grey skinned assholes is not all that it's cracked up to be. You kind of miss earth, and all of its wonders and glories before, you know, you kind of started the apocalypse and basically blew it up? Not that any of that matters anymore, like you said, you blew it up. There isn’t anything left to miss anyway, all because of that stupid game. You let out a long big angsty teenage sigh and take a sip of your shitty imitation alchemized apple juice. You can't help but cringe at its acrid taste. You still have yet to achieve alchemizing the true sweet delectable taste that real, human, earth apple juice had. But you know you will. One day. You rest your head against the wall and stare up at the boring grey ceiling. This entire meteor is so bland and boring no matter how many shitty decorations are put up, it still looks almost as shitty as you feel right now. Perhaps at another point in your life you would have realized how depressing horrible you sound, and would try to do something, anything, to take yourself out of your misery slump. But at the moment, you kind of just want to embrace this phase of ‘totally ironic’ teen angst. So you let out another long angsty sigh, and take another sip, still staring up at the boring grey ceiling. You’re somewhat ashamed to say you’ve been sitting here like this for about an hour now, and you're way too content with spending a couple more like this. But of course that doesn't happen.
So there you are, sitting all slumped against a wall, and you're so deep into the throes of your emo scene-kid pout fest that you don’t even notice him slide down the wall beside. You probably would have remained blissfully unaware of his shouty presence if he didn't start flapping that loud never ending mouth of his. “What actual fuck are you doing? Why in all of god’s shitspoutting name are you sitting back here alone like this? I thought that a buldgemunching ‘coolkid’ like yourself would never get caught wallowing in this disgusting cesspool of this clearly baseless and self-inflicted misery, while serving yourself with such a huge fucking helping of pathetic self-pity. Isn’t this supposed to be a grand and fucking happy event in your utter disappointment of a culture? Shouldn’t you be having this elusive and mysterious fun that all you people keep talking about instead of moping around all the way over here?”
In all honesty, you probably would have jumped out of your skin from his sudden barrage of whiney insults, if you hadn’t grown up with your flashstepping douchebag of a Bro. So you keep your expression leveled and completely neutral when you turn to face your constantly crabby companion’s face-melting scowl.
“I don’t exactly see how this is meant to be fun,” you say, gesturing towards the painfully empty room with your half filled cup of disappointment. You choose to ignore the bit of piss yellow liquid that happened to slosh out onto your lap. You mean, like, the magical jammies will just dry-clean themselves anyway, right?
He narrows his yellow eyes, pelting you with a wave of furious glare-bullets. In an instant, he snatches the cup from you hand an sniffs it before scowling and thrusting it back into your patiently waiting palm. “Good, so you’re not human intoxicated like your boozed up dumbass of a sister,” he grumbles turning his glare over to the blonde haired girl who was drunkenly tonguing her vampire rainbow drinker of a girlfriend…troll friend? You’re still not sure how to label their weird lesbian interspecies relationship. What ever makes your sis happy you guess? You shrug, not really caring too much. If she wants to wreck her liver to get over her mom then fine. It’s her own stupid choice anyway. Besides you have your own grieving to do.
“What the hell do you want?” You’re getting kind of tired of his shit, you mean, can’t you just sit alone in your peaceful pissy solitude? “Don’t you have anyone else to bother?”
“I… uh… not really,” he mutters, his normally loud and shouting voice faltering. That wide eyed, betrayed, almost heart broken look he gives you makes you want to rip out your own tongue, throw it on the ground, and do the fucking salsa on top of. Because it was only then did you realize that, oh shit, there is no one else to bother. His creepy clown bro, Gamzee, was still off somewhere in the vents lurking and honking in the shadows. Your previous sort of girlfriend/trollfriend and his old crush, TZ, was off god knows where. Rose and Kanaya never leave each other’s god damned side anymore, so he couldn’t really hang out with them without being caught in the crossfires of awkward sloppy make outs. And well, there’s always the Mayor, but as chill as that little dude is, he’s always way too busy leading the citizens of Can Town, and really didn’t have any time to hang. So all that leaves is you. It suddenly dawns on you that he must be pretty fucking lonely these days. And now that you think about it, shit, you are too.
You break your normally stoic, cold hard face to grimace at this new revelation. You groan and rub your eyes beneath your shades. You think it’s time to burry the old stupid and rusted hatchet of your petty childish feud. You slide off your glasses to stare him dead in the eyes. You noticed how his eyes widen a fraction more in surprise. You never remove your shades. Like, ever. “Look, dude,” you try to begin, forcing down what little pride you have, “I’m… I’m sorry.”
If his eyes were wide before, they practically pop out of his head like a wine cork this time. “You’re what?” His shouts bounced off the meteor walls, startling the happy lesbian couple out of their smooch fest, and forcing the Mayor to topple over the grand Can Town clock tower. You flinch back from the noise as the completely flustered and stunned troll gapes at you like a fish. “You—you’re—you said—what the fuck?”
You roll your eyes at this melodramatic display. You apologizing isn’t that fucking astounding. “Yeah, like dude, I realized I kind of struck a nerve with you. And I guess I’ve been kind of a piece of shit to you over the past two years, even if I do think you’re kind of pathetic. Just, like, look, what I’m trying to say here, completely 100% unironically, is that we’re both lonely little assholes, feeling very much alone and pathetic on this boring ass meteor, and I just wanted to burry all the stupid shit we’ve been throwing at each other and kind of just push through all this bullshit together, you know?”
He continued to stare at you with giant bugged out eyes and a gaping jaw, looking more and more like a fish out of water by the second. You put back on your glasses and start to get up with a frustrated sigh. You’re feeling pretty tired of all this shit at the moment. You probably should have gone back to your room a long time ago. You’re about to leave when the little grey asshole finally snaps out of his dumbstruck stupidity to grab your arm and yank you painfully back down to the ground beside him. You wince in pain, figuring there’ll probably be a giant fucking bruise tomorrow from where your plush rump has just struck the ground. You glare at the panicked troll, who is still holding onto your arm, looking very unsure of himself and what to do. You seem to have pulled him out of his normally shouty element. You kind of like it.
“Um, I…” he tries to begin, fiddling with the sleeve of the arm that he’s still fuckingholding. “Does… does that mean we’re friends now?”
You frown, not having really thought this through. But to be fair, when have you ever? “I don’t know,” you reply, “just not really rivals anymore, I guess.”
He nods and leans back against the wall, still not having let go of your arm. You decide to just give up on your hopes and dreams of going back to the dark and warm comforts of your room. You sit against the wall next to him and sigh, but this time, by some miracle, it isn’t a long and angsty one. You sigh, maybe because you’re tired, maybe because there’s this little cranky asshole clinging to your arm like it’s the only thing that's keeping him tethered to this shitty reality, or maybe, just maybe, it’s because you no longer have to put up with this cheap pathetic imitation of Taco Tuesday alone anymore.