(no subject)

[cookinglikeamotherfucker]

Nobody talked to the kid with the dreads.

Nobody knew if he'd been held back with the jocks, or if he'd just hit the world's worst growth spurt, but the long, lanky highblood seemed to top everyone else in stature, even the select little clique of seadwellers, all of whom had taken to muttering about him indiscreetly. Of course, it didn't help his image that he wandered the halls with the dazed expression of the perpetually baked. He'd already been forced to stop painting his face by the faculty to keep from distracting others in his classes. As if that was really what everyone was focusing on.

He was intelligent, even brilliant according to some of the instructors, but that didn't count for anything when none of his homework was turned in, either coming up missing or simply forgotten, or occasionally doodled on. He never took notes and rarely remembered to bring his textbooks. The only class he did well in, for that matter, was his visual arts elective and even then, he rarely stayed on task, often speeding through the lessons then slinking away to one of the broken-down loveseats what were used for the occasional sit-in model for life drawing sessions.

He was a flake, and ninety percent of the time, he was alone.

Fourth block Gym was never something that he participated in. He simply stayed long enough to be counted there for role call, then slipped out easily to settle down behind the gymnasium where the security guards never went, sitting on the ground in the shade in his gym clothes and packing a bowl out of sight where the smoke would be whipped away by the breeze.

Comments

[cookinglikeamotherfucker]

Gamzee blinked and returned his attention to Eridan instead. "So what, you volunteerin' for that shit?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. It wasn't condescending, simply a casual motion coupled with leaning back in his seat with his knee up against the underside of his desk. His head tilted as he examined Eridan. Handsome face, jewelry befitting any seadweller, radiating pomposity and decorum; typical royalty, in other words.

[princeofmelodrama]

At first, he was still glaring at Gamzee for having tuned him out, but at the question, he sat up, eyes widening slightly as his back straightened defensively. "I might," he said defensively, his eyes still affixed on the highblood's face. "There's others, if you'd be more comfortable havin' someone more like yourself to help you." He wasn't sure who he was giving that out to, himself or Makara.

The more he was able to think about it, he was trying really hard not to get close to this guy. He knew the guy's reputation for just being a scrub, a land-dwelling waste of time and space. He knew the guy had just been labeled weird, and off. Some people even said he was crazy. Eridan could see the weirdness, but didn't really recognize anything remotely resembling insanity. Just laziness.

[cookinglikeamotherfucker]

Shaking his head, Gamzee simply laced his figners together around his pen, tapping his fingertips against it as he seemed to think this over.

"You know what? You're the first one to give half a shit what I do here. Probably all motherfuckin' self-servin' and shit but you know what? I like you, bro." He grinned and put his pen down, leaning against his elbow and poking the center of Eridan's chest lightly. "You think I need help huh? Talk at me after class so people aren't all up and motherfuckin' waitin' for you to sit down."

[princeofmelodrama]

Usually, acts of pity and charity were self-serving. That was what caught Eridan off-balance. What would he get out of this? Surely, the tutor program gave him some credits to go towards college, but that could have come from anybody, someone less likely to be a handful than this guy. Eridan stood from the seat he'd taken, and went to sit down in his assigned seat, rubbing his chest where Makara had poked it, and took out his books to start work at taking notes as the teacher came in to start the lesson.

When the final bell went off, Eridan had taken thorough notes, which were tucked neatly away into a folder specifically for the class, and tucked away in his book bag, alongside the rest of the books and folders. He kept one eye on Gamzee as he packed up, shouldering his bag before walking up to him. He nodded to the door. "We can get you signed up for the tutor program at the front office, an' if you're actually wantin' to do this, it's at least an hour a day after school, minus days I got to spend overlookin' clubs, twice a month." He didn't go into how at the start of swimming season, he'd be less available, but he wasn't even sure this guy could hack it for a week, much less the months before swimming started.

[cookinglikeamotherfucker]

Gamzee looked back at him as he stood to follow with his binder tucked up under his arm.

The expressions of the people in the office ranged from surprised to skeptical when they handed over the papers, glancing between Eridan and Gamzee as if they fully expected it to fall apart before the end of the week. Gamzee was just looking around the very familiar room with his hands tucked into the pockets of his loose-hanging jeans. His shoes fit just as badly as his pants and soon he wouldn't be able to wear them at all the larger he grew and he seemed to realize this as he fidgeted a little in place, pulling his heels out of his tennis shoes and flattening the backs down more comfortably.

After his name had been put down on the paper he started back out into the hall to lean against the wall outside the door. There were a few looks shot his way, muttering about what he might have done to warrant being brought to the office again, the vast majority of it flying right over his head. He was simply wearing his soft smile, thumb flicking idly across his lighter and throwing tiny sparks.

[princeofmelodrama]

Eridan was no stranger to the office, himself, but for far different reasons. He returned momentarily after finishing up the paperwork for the tutoring program, and stepped out, looking up at the other. "I'm goin' to need to know what classes you're doin' poorly in. If you're as bright as the assessment tests have the teachers believe, it shouldn't be much more than just workin' to get the assignments done. I'll be there to make sure you're organized, and got your shit together. Hate seein' a good brain go to waste. C'mon, we'll find a room to work in." He already had one in mind - it was out of the way of most everyone, and with the exception of winter pageants and spring plays, it was practically abandoned. He started down towards the theater, and not towards the classrooms.

He led the way down through the dark aisle of the theater, and walked through to the back of the stage, and then opened the door to the green room. It was silent, and strangely musty, with the scent of old smoke and long-forgotten makeup lingering in the air, but had its own stereo, was well lit, and had comfortable sofas and other seats. Most of the student body didn't even know that the room existed, and Eridan rather liked being one of the few who kept it in mind as a retreat. "An' I'll also need to know you're actually plannin' on doin' what's needed. If you don't actually fuckin' work at this, we're both gettin' in trouble for this."

[cookinglikeamotherfucker]

After flopping down onto one of the sofas and kicking off his shoes, Gamzee dug into the binder that was apparently his catch-all and held out his last progress report, detailing the classes that he was failing, the ones he was barely passing, and the two he seemed to be doing well in simply because he showed up, or in the case of his art class, passed with a reasonable score by doing basically the minimal work. It was supposed to have been taken home to his guardian for a signature, but judging by the wrinkles in the paper, it hadn't seen sunlight since it had been shut in the binder in the first place. With the other hand he popped a slightly bent cigarette between his lips then lit it and took a drag, taking care to blow the smoke away from them both.

"Look man, I'm here, I'm listenin'. Just...I dunno, what is it you do? What gives you all this motherfuckin' motivation to be runnin' around at nine hundred motherfuckin' miles an hour doin' every motherfuckin' thing you think you gotta be all up and doin' every day?"

[princeofmelodrama]

That was a fair question. He looked the report over with an increasingly furrowed brow. "I have ambitions, a plan for a future," Eridan explained, as he set the paper aside. "I want to change things in this world, influence an' bend it to becomin' somethin' better than it is, an' if I want to do that, I couldn't very well just by slackin' off now." He pulled out the textbooks for the classes they shared and set them down, knowing what assignments were due for them, handing over the notes he'd already taken for them. "High school's just the foundation in a larger structure. It may not be entirely useful for the things you learn in class, but it's instillin' how to keep yourself scheduled an' organized. Somethin' you clearly haven't taken to," he said with a nod to the ratty binder.

"Don't you want to change things? Make somethin' a yourself?"

[cookinglikeamotherfucker]

"All I ever motherfuckin' seen highschool do to people's give 'em better reasons to avoid people for the rest'a their fuckin' lives and huge motherfuckin' inferiority complexes." Shaking his head, Gamzee sat back up and propped his elbow up against his knee, his head leaning against his hand as he glanced down at the textbook. "Man I've already read all that shit. Don't care to go through it over and over and most'a the fuckin' time they got their facts all up and motherfuckin' misconstrued. You want some real motherfuckin' learnin', go to the library. Find somethin' published outside'a this country. This shit's all patriotically weighted and all up and motherfuckin' brainwashin' shit."

[princeofmelodrama]

"I agree with you," sighed Eridan with a heavy roll of his eyes to the assessment of the assigned work, "But it's assigned, an' we got to play their game to get a grade. It's class A bullshit, an' I know it just as well as you. But it ain't what's in the book that's important, it's showin' you can do the work. Fuckin' play the game an' get ahead." He offered a fresh notebook and a pen. "Just gotta write what they told you to write, an' turn it in. It doesn't matter what outrageous bullshit it is they're tellin' you to do, once it's done, it shows you can play the game, an' they'll reward you for your stupid circus act." He closed his eyes, getting a bit irritated by the cigarette smoke.

"Fuckin' show 'em you can do this shit. Surprise the hell outta 'em, Makara."

[cookinglikeamotherfucker]

"Ain't nothin' good gonna come of it, just gonna draw all the motherfuckin' attention back to myself and ain't no motherfuckin' good gonna come." Shaking his head, Gamzee took the notes nonetheless and grabbed for the book so that he had a surface to work with as he answered the questions without paying much attention to anything else. It was obvious that he had in fact read all of it by the fact that he never had to flip the page or double check, simply writing the answers with a bored, sleepy expression. Before the ash from his cigarette could fall onto the paper he flicked it to one side, then licked his fingers and pinched out the cherry. He handed over the work when it was finished and went back to reclining against the arm of the couch.

[princeofmelodrama]

"You got a pretty fuckin' negative outlook on life if you think that sorta shit's gonna happen just 'cause you did a few assignments," Eridan said, checking over the work with a nod. "Listen, soon you're going to need some folders other than that ragged fuckin' binder to put these in. It'll keep you from gettin' disorganized an' forgettin' to turn your work in." He handed over another set of notes and looked up at Gamzee, holding back from looking as upset about how hopeless the guy seemed as he really was.

"You can do the work," he murmured, "so why don't you?"

[cookinglikeamotherfucker]

Gamzee just gave him a look and shook his head, holding out his hand for the next assignment. They may not have shared all of their classes, but for the ones they did he could at least use Eridan's books for it. That hadn't been a question he felt like answering.

Working quickly through the assigned homework, the smalltalk was more or less dropped, letting the tension take its place until Gamzee finally stood up, rubbing his hands over his face and starting toward the door. He tucked his work into one of the flaps of his binder before zipping it and holding it under one arm on his way out. He stopped with the door open, looking back at Eridan with a soft frown.

"Look man, it ain't like I don't fuckin' appreciate what you're tryin' to do, but I still don't get why. Don't none'a you get involved with me or anyone else ain't your motherfuckin' click without a reason."

[princeofmelodrama]

Eridan looked up with a more pointed frown then, and then looked away. "What clique." He stood as well and grabbed his book bag, tucking the book that was still out under his arm. "I don't run with 'em, if you didn't notice." And that much was true; he had too many things to do, was spread so thin with what he'd signed up in that he didn't have a clique. He had many clubs of which he was a part, but he didn't eat at school, didn't establish himself as part of any particular clique. He was well liked, but stood away from everybody, distanced himself even from the people that considered him his friends. "An' I'm not even sure a my reasons yet. Figured I'd figure 'em out after a couple days."

He felt a little offended, though, that Gamzee had thought he was angling for something beyond trying to see if he could help. "You got a real case a seein' with your eyes closed," he said as he pushed his way through to leave first. "I'll wait for you tomorrow after school. Don't go smokin' on campus again." He paused as he was walking, rubbing his forehead. "There's a stand a trees just off school grounds that doesn't get checked. Just off the track, behind the bleachers. It's safe there."

[cookinglikeamotherfucker]

Gamzee stared after him for a moment, then nodded, muttering, "Yeah, I know." He was already started in that direction when Eridan mentioned it. He lifted a hand before leaving the building, giving Eridan a most likely unseen wave then ducking off to head out toward whatever he intended to do with his night.

The following morning when he strolled into his first period chemistry class his face was painted in spite of the rules that had been set specifically because of him. He was wearing yesterday's clothes and his binder was held close to his body. This was one of those classes he did just passably in, as it was one of the only ones that couldn't be misconstrued without heading into the area of psuedoscience and outright bullshitting. His lab partner was absent at least, meaning that he would be left alone for the time being.

As soon as class began and he sat back, he started to nod off, his forehead supported by the heel of his hand.

[princeofmelodrama]

Eridan had noticed the first thing; the same clothes two days in a row, and the sleepy behavior. He walked away from his partner during a minute where he could, and went to Gamzee's table, patting the other's shoulder. "Hey," he murmured. "C'mon, not the time or place for a nap," he scolded under his breath. "Makara."

A million possibilities started rolling around in his head. Was the kid unable to go home? What was the fucking situation? The teacher by then had looked up and scolded Eridan for leaving his table, and Eridan glared up to the front of the class. "I'm just lookin' out for my classmate," he snapped back, which caught a few looks from the other kids. Some whispered to each other about what the class president had to do with the stoner, and he ignored the looks.

He leaned down to murmur, "After class I got a free block. I want to talk with you if you don't got a class."

[cookinglikeamotherfucker]

Gamzee's eye sat half open as he looked back at Eridan wordlessly, then closed it again until he'd gone back to his seat. He sat up to pay a little bit of attention nonetheless, never taking a note but absorbing every word. He had a notebook in front of him, newer than the paper that was wedged into his binder, half full of scribbles and aimless doodles between answers to the questions that had been assigned for the day. The notepad was closed as soon as the bell rang to let them out and shoved back into his binder. Next he had a literature class that he knew the teacher had given up on him in (and that Ampora wasn't in), meaning that he could sleep.

Come time for his third period art class though, he would have to be able to concentrate. It was a research day for a project that would count heavily toward their semester grade, and he actually enjoyed at least as much of the class as he was awake for. The fact that the teacher paid some attention to him definitely helped. After class he was taken aside as soon as the rest of the students left and sat down to talk. He was ten minutes late for the next class and by the time he got there his facepaint had been washed off, and he was holding a frozen sponge inside a plastic bag against his jaw, mostly obscured by his hair. He didn't want to go inside.

In fact, he didn't go inside, just lingering in the hall for a minute then turning to go just off campus to that safe, unmonitored place and sit down in the shade.

[princeofmelodrama]

And his presence was missed by one astute classmate. He fidgeted with his pencil as he barely paid attention to the teacher, fussing with his rings instead of taking notes. Once it was time to quietly read the assigned pages, he tucked his things into his bag and stood, murmuring that he had some important business to take care of. He was taken at his word about it, and he left the class, feeling almost guilty that he did with literally no reason outside of a deeply personal one. He started down one of the back stairs and ducked out of the exit, feeling like he should turn around and go back to class. He'd never skipped out on a class - even half of one - before.

He had a pretty fair idea of where he was going, however, and made his way back behind the bleachers, on the far end of the track. He saw the lanky form of the highblood there and shook his head as he dropped down into a crouch, simply quiet.

"Why didn't you go home last night?" he asked. The clothes and sleeplessness gave it away. "Look, I can't help you if you don't fuckin' talk to me. And believe it or fuckin' not, I actually want to help."

[cookinglikeamotherfucker]

"Th'fuck do you care for in the first place? Never motherfuckin' noticed me to begin with so why now?" He still couldn't shake the idea that there was some ulterior motive for Eridan's sudden involvement in his life. He fished in his pocket for a moment for his pipe and lighter, starting to scrape it with his fingernail again, the bag with its sponge sitting in his lap, the water leaking out of it. He flicked the lighter a couple of time before it caught, taking a hard hit and holding back a cough.

"Where you live anyway, man? I'm guessin' one'a those big motherfuckin' three-story places over in that big-ass fenced in neighborhood right?"

[princeofmelodrama]

"I..." Eridan felt his stomach drop at that. He'd noticed, but he had pressures. Obligations. If he had talked to the guy before, there would be no damn way his reputation could survive it. But he didn't care about that these days. Reputation would be tarnished, it'd be bright and squeaky, it didn't matter what he did, just as long as his grades never dropped and he fulfilled his obligations. Two more years of this, and he'd be free from that stupid hierarchical bullshit. He was fucking sick of being painted with the broad brush that the rest of the seadwellers had rightly earned. He had friends - distant, out of those obligations - that didn't meet some rigid, ridiculous standard due to caste or clique, and they were good people. If he hung out with them, he got looked at funny. He was fucking sick of it.

And here he was getting judged for it by someone who probably spent his whole fucking life dealing with the bullshit that the other royalty had given him. Probably just out of the fact that he was a highblood that didn't act the way they wanted. Shit, he knew that was the case. He'd seen the others push him around and watched him passively walk on like he'd given no shits. It made Eridan's stomach churn. He was never a part of that. He strove to change that. All while under a veil of pretense, he worked to change how school society did that shit. It never seemed to work.

He tensed at the other's on-the-nose guess. "Yeah," he muttered. "Just by the beach," he amended. "You're avoidin' my questions. Fuckin' answer 'em. I'm not gonna fuckin' sit here lettin' you pull this fuckin' paranoid, skate-through bullshit with me. Why didn't you go home last night?" He repeated, glaring at the highblood.

[cookinglikeamotherfucker]

The mellow high that he'd tried for was quickly being beaten back down again by the insistence and finally Gamzee turned back around to face him, putting his hand against Eridan's chest and pushing him back firmly but slowly enough that he wouldn't be knocked over. He gritted his teeth, wincing a bit as he did, his hair shifting some as he stared Eridan down. There was a bruised, ugly purple knot on his jaw just in front of his ear, bigger than the average fist could make. "Maybe I'm all motherfuckin' avoidin' answerin' 'em because that really ain't any'a your motherfuckin' business. You got your life, I got mine an' it don't motherfuckin' matter whether you like it or not." He grimaced and sat back again, his back pressed into the tree, his pipe back up at his lips.

"You're gonna be late for class you don't hurry up and go," he murmured a couple of seconds before the bell rang to let them out of the class they'd missed.

[princeofmelodrama]

Eridan toppled but righted himself with a glare, shaking his head. "Fuck class. An' fuck you for lumpin' me in with the rest a 'em. An' y'know what? Fuck this. I fuckin' try to be helpful," he said as he stood, dusting off his pants, "try an' extend some fuckin' courtesy to someone that I might be interested in talkin' with an' looked like he needed someone to talk to, an' this is the bullshit I get repaid with? Yeah, I'll pass."

He grabbed his bag and gave one last glare to Gamzee. "You know, I was gonna fuckin' offer you to stay at the guest house if you wanted, maybe get you somewhere safer or somethin', clearly you don't got a safe place to be at night. But you been fuckin' avoidin' it 'cause you clearly can't fuckin' trust anybody. It's no fuckin' wonder you're alone all the fuckin' time." He huffed and started away. "Unbelievable," he muttered to himself.

[cookinglikeamotherfucker]

There were so many things that he wanted to yell after Eridan at that point. He nearly followed him back inside too, but whether it would be to confront him or to apologize, even he didn't know. He stood and stared after him, reeling back to throw his nearly empty lighter after him but thinking better of it and wandering off, leaving his melted icepack on the ground behind him.

For the rest of the week, he never appeared in class. His absence was noted and occasionally commented on, but otherwise, the world went on as usual regardless of his presence. There had been a few sightings by one student or another when they went off-campus, just an indistinct description of a very tall highblood on a longboard, wandering the beachfront or loitering out of the way. The occasional snide remark was made in Eridan's direction, but other than that nobody said anything else on the subject.

Graffiti had been popping up here and there in unexpected places, and never what someone would expect to be called graffiti; it was tasteful, reflecting an artist rather than a vandal. It didn't seem to connect to anything or hold any such meaning, it simply existed as a curiosity on the sides of old buildings that nobody really paid attention to or the backsides of unused dumpsters on the "bad" side of town or fences that nobody really looked at except to note that there was something there that wasn't before. It was surreal, often monochrome, and never signed.

[princeofmelodrama]

And it was a stab in his heart for running the guy off. Whether or not that was the highblood's intention, it was how Eridan felt.

When he went home on Friday, after classes were out and his club had finished, Eridan vented his frustrations to his guardian, who had the same amount of patience for bullshit as he did, and agreed, that it was a tricky situation, and to approach the young highblood with caution - he knew the boy's guardian, and 'capricious' was an understatement worthy of being called lighthearted parody, and likely how unfortunate the situation was at home - though Dualscar had a way of saying things without saying them. He skirted the issue with vagueness that Eridan followed and the way he did it made him fret. It didn't hearten Eridan at all. Nor did the fact that it was unlikely he'd see Makara outside in the places he would normally be.

He was still completely mindfucking the situation when school started the following Monday. He wanted to apologize for how he'd exploded on the other, and extend a hand again, to try and reach out. His mind wouldn't let go of that drowsy, sad-eyed look on Gamzee's face, looking like the world had died and he was just waiting for everyone to catch up that he'd given Eridan, behind the painted grin of white on a handsome, almost gaunt face.

He sighed as he set his bag down, looking over at the so-far empty seat from his own as he settled into the first class of the day, hoping that Gamzee would show up.

[cookinglikeamotherfucker]

When Gamzee showed it was twenty minutes late for class, in clean clothes and looking as if he'd at least eaten some time over the weekend, the usual peaceful look on his face that said that even though he was here, his mind clearly wasn't. He was carrying his binder under his arm, his hands hidden up in the sleeves of the overshirt he wore unbuttoned over a faded but serviceable wifebeater. He'd pulled his dreads up behind his head in a loose ponytail and for all anyone else could tell, it was like last week never happened.

After the interruption the class resumed easily and Gamzee slouched down in his seat beside his lab partner, who was giving him a strange sideways stare but otherwise saying nothing. The bruising on his face was covered up by the layer of white paint and for once, nobody was saying anything about that either.