#othercat2

Dave is brought up frequently as a bone of contention, or a trump card, as if his arguments were any less true because of Dave. (He’s not surprised that this would be the case.) Karkat finds himself arguing a lot about not only Dave, but Gamzee. Trying to explain Gamzee’s sense of humor and motivations are hard, and also a little exasperating. He doesn’t want to defend Gamzee, but at the same time, he feels he has to. Dave watches this for a few days, looking amused before he steps in during a talk show interview. “Master Makara probably didn’t know anything about the Empress’  plans to have the Emissary investigate the treatment of her gifts,” Dave says in answer to a question to Karkat, John translates. “I say probably because who even knows. I spent a perigee with him and I still couldn’t figure him out.”  

Kamala Nguyen, their interviewer on a late night program frowns. “You have to admit it seems suspicious, that he would attempt to discredit--”

Karkat is about to interject angrily when he’s surprised by Dave making a warning sound. It’s a loud blatting buzz with his mouth and fingers, a fairly accurate impression of the sound that indicates that a hatch or gate hasn’t been closed correctly. Ms. Nguyen straightens, looking surprised. “Nope,” Dave says in English. “Master Makara would never try to discredit Karkat. They’re moirails and that’s kind of important.  This is more of what he’d call a prank from the Mirthful Ones, I think. Something put in motion like we’re all in a romantic comedy being written and directed by terrifying eldritch pranksters.” The rest is translated by John.  

“A romantic comedy?” Ms. Nguyen asks skeptically.

“Well I’m sure master would like to be all ‘this is a political drama with some action’ but no, it’s a romantic comedy. In Which A Former Alien Gladiator and A Romance Author Are Thrown Together by Fate in the Form of the Author’s Highblooded Moirail Who Wants To Manage His Moirail’s Sadly Empty Quadrants. Featuring Pro Emancipationist Rhetoric a Slow Burn Romance a Number of Surprising Revelations Concerning the Highblood’s Actual Motives and Lots of Awkward Discussions About Consent. Warnings For Xenophilia, Quadrant Smearing and Aquadratic Characters,” John translates for Dave.  

“Warning for Aquadratic characters is orientation shaming and inappropriate,” Karkat grumbles, because he can’t help himself.

“Little steps, master. Representation is important but we can’t shock our fan base,” Dave says in English. “Gotta let them know what they’re getting into.”

Karkat snorts. “‘We?’” he asks. “Still not ghost writing your memoirs, Strider.”

“You’ll have no choice; you’ll be lured closer to the pit by the smell of bad grammar and typos. Then my tentacles of prose will drag you under,” Dave says in English.

The conversation turns in the direction of the hypothetical memoir, then briefly back to Karkat’s position as Emissary before it’s time to end the interview.

After spending some time in the green room talking over the phone with  Ampora they head back to the ship, Dave and John talking about the hypothetical memoir. “Are you really thinking about writing a memoir?” John asks Dave once they’re in the limo.

“I dunno, maybe,” Dave says. “I will totally write it as a romantic comedy though,” he says with a teasing glance at Karkat.

“You can write it like fan fiction,” Karkat says. “A coffee shop AU where you stumble into acting as an auspistice for Terezi and Gamzee.”

“Where are you in this fan fic?” Dave asks. “And am I customer at this coffee shop, or a minion of the coffee shop?”

“Minion. I am a mysterious benefactor who you at first only know by the sound of my voice,” Karkat says. “You don’t know until midway through the story that Gamzee is my moirail and Terezi is a good if exasperating hatefriend of mine.”

“Not a potential kismesis?” Dave asks, looking amused.

“Regrettably, I’m still myself in this story, and therefore pretty much all over the place in regards to my quadrants,” Karkat says.  “Also, a mutant and a terrible choice for a concupiscent quadrant.”

“But my hapless flailing because of the ashen flirting awakens a spark of true pity and or sheer exasperation that inspires you to come to my rescue.”

“That and I’m pretty sure Gamzee and or Terezi will kill the coffee shop owner for punishing you for your interventions, rendering the workers’ lives even more complicated and unpleasant.”

“Gotta think about the lives of those ordinary workers, struggling to earn their allowances and buy their retirement,” Dave says, nodding.

“Are you flirting?” John asks, looking a little red in the face. “I’m pretty sure both of you are flirting.”

“That would be a thing that’s happening,” Dave says.

“Do you have a problem with that, Mr. Egbert?” Karkat asks.

“No!” Egbert says quickly. “It’s just hard to tell sometimes?”

“Don’t worry we’re not gonna start macking in the back seat,” Dave says.

“That’s really, really not likely to happen,” Karkat says.

“Master’s shy,” Dave says in a stage whisper to John.

“I have a sense of decorum,” Karkat says in an attempt at a quelling tone. Predictably, it just makes Dave grin.

Dave teases John all the way to the ship and Karkat joins in with an occasional comment of his own. Though there had been a few rocky incidents--like John’s attempt to rescue Dave by purchasing him--Karkat was beginning to feel more than a little hatefriendly toward the human. John was an intelligent if occasionally oblivious individual and watching Dave reduce John to sputtering near-nonsense was entertaining. (John occasionally won the bouts, though not by very much.)

Once in their quarters, they occupy themselves with social media, Karkat on the console, Dave reading on the human equivalent of a husktop, reading the reactions to the most recent interview. (They start a thread with each other on a forum site. Someone asks: Okay so you are both in the same room pretty much? WHY are you arguing with each other in this thread? Dave responds: sometimes is more comfortable to talk in text Karkat writes: YES. THIS IS MORE COMFORTABLE FOR ME ANYWAY AS MOST OF MY EARLY SOCIAL INTERACTIONS WERE VIA TEXT.) The conversation wandered off into the realm of early social development.

After an hour or two on social media they retreat for the couch and the entertainment center. Dave is exploring Terran musical genres so a lot of what they watch are music videos. Karkat notices a certain theme to the lyrics of a number of songs three songs into the most recent playlist and gives Dave a suspicious look. “‘Grind,’ ‘Pump,’  ‘I Want Your Honey’?” Karkat asks.

“Just some songs I want to try out for future dance routines,” Dave says with a little smirk.  

“Pitch dancing to plainly red concupiscent songs?”

“I’m branching out, maybe,” Dave says. “Gonna master all the quadrant styles. Wait, what would ashen dancing look like? Or pale?”

“It wouldn’t look like anything,” Karkat says. “Well okay, there are artistic compositions about moiraillegiance and auspistism but the style you were being taught is a purely concupiscent style.”

“Maybe I should watch them, to practice for Terezi,” Dave says. “Get all pale seductive in her grill.”  

“She gets sad, doesn’t always believe that she’s done anything good or worthwhile, which is plainly idiotic, but depression generally doesn’t make sense anyway,” Karkat says. “Make her breakfast, make her go out to see the moons every so often; she’s actually worse than Sollux if she isn’t on a case.”

“Spilling the beans on your hatefriend?” Dave asks, smiling a little.

“Relaying easily observable facts,” Karkat says, mock-defensively. “Such as a playlist with a theme, and you not answering my question.”

“Your question was literally just repeating song titles, master,” Dave points out. “I have no idea what you mean.”  

“Implied question: are you setting a mood here or something?” Karkat asks. He’s surprised to see a faint blush on Dave’s cheeks.

“Maybe,” Dave says, averting his gaze slightly. “So I figured either you thought I wasn’t ready for the full sex, or you weren’t ready, therefore, mood music.”

Karkat felt his own face heat up, which was ridiculous. He wasn’t some newly Ascended flush ingénue; he was an adult, dammit.  “Mood music. For me or you?” He asks dryly. “You should know my taste in concupiscent music by now; this isn’t it.”

“Well, fight over the remote to make the music stop, kissing, below the pants action,” Dave says. “It’s a romantic classic?”

Karkat pretends to consider it. “It’s acceptable, for a very pre-Ascension style romance like the Black Candy Crush series. ‘Two hatefriends meet for the first time and discover pitch feelings for each other and it’s adorkable.’”

“So you think my mad romance skills are on the same level as a romance book for wigglers?” Dave asks with a frown of not-quite-mock disappointment.

“Only a wiggler thinks there’s something wrong with reading romances written for wigglers,” Karkat says. “Wigglers are so desperate to grow up and matter they think rejecting what they liked as a wiggler is part of being an adult. It’s really sad.” Karkat sighs and shakes his head.

Dave stares at him. “I am not a wiggler,” he says. “Okay, you’re older than me by a few sweeps--”

“Five, at least,” Karkat says. “That’s a pretty considerable chunk of time, for a human.”

“Yeah, I would have been past my prime in another seven or eight sweeps. Maybe I still will be,” Dave says, and wiggles his eyebrows.

“You’ll be just as obnoxiously pitiful and I wouldn’t mind having you around, that is if you still had an interest in my decrepit ass,” Karkat says.

“I’ll push your four wheeled device out onto the patio every evening,” Dave offers. “Serve you soft boiled eggs and cool featherbeast broth for breakfast every morning; mock your collection of literary awards.”

“Heh.” Karkat leans in for a kiss, makes a surprised little grunt when Dave falls back onto the couch, taking Karkat along for the ride. “I’ve gotten one--oh.”  Karkat can feel the line of Dave’s rigid bulge pressing up against him. It makes his bulge shift and press back.  He starts to rise up a little, but Dave pulls him close.

“You’ve got one?” Dave asks mock innocently. “I’ve got one too, and I think it’s past time they had their first play date.”

Karkat sputters, somewhere between laughter and outrage; then Dave is kissing him again, and coherent thought fucks off, never to be seen again.

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