Chapter Text
From the black recesses of the General Runeography classroom, Rose Lalonde, fairly average Hexside student, fashions herself a pair of finger binoculars. With her hands curled rather foolishly in front of her singular eye, she zooms in on the world around her.
ROSE : And here we have another perfect specimen of Bonesborough’s Lesser Teenager.
ROSE : Gaze in stupefied awe as he extracts greasy scroll from linty pocket, hiding it expertly ‘neath the eaves of his defaced desk.
ROSE : The Lesser Teenager has evolved to fill a specific ecological niche. One which, if it were to remain empty, really would not have mattered all that much in the long term.
ROSE : But despite Darwinian apathy on all fronts, our specimen perseveres. He opens penstagram in an effort to communicate with the other members of his herd.
DAVE : goddammit will you quit narrating every little thing i do
DAVE : i hate it when you go all witch david attenborough on me
DAVE : especially when i am ATTEMPTING to use subterfuge
ROSE : I can’t help it. You’re essentially the perfect target. Unassuming, and ripe for commentary.
DAVE : oh shit
Dave gives Rose a monocular evil eye as he marches his behind to the fore side of the classroom, and subsequently to the principal’s office. Rose winces in sympathy. While it’s practically routine to irritate Dave as a part of their incessant exchange of siblingly barbs, it’s never nice when someone’s ( probably ) undeserved punishment is sort of your fault. But boredom strikes again and Rose Lalonde, never the sort to derive meaning from an obvious omen, turns her finger-noculars on a newer quarry.
ROSE : With the Lesser Teenager out of the picture, it’s time for the true wonder of Bonesborough’s ecosystem to shine.
ROSE : Initially an invasive species from a realm beyond our own, the human has integrated fully, and semi-harmlessly, with the local food chain.
ROSE : To be accepted so seamlessly by a hostile tribe is a phenomenon rarely glimpsed in our modern world.
ROSE : With her chance at an au courant magical education, Aradia Megido, sole homo-sapiens of the Boiling Isles, has the world in the palm of her squishy little hands.
ROSE : The question remains; what will she do with it?
ROSE : Oh, hold on, we’re receiving new footage right now.
ROSE : She appears.. to be picking her nose, and wiping it on the underside of her desk.
ROSE : Gross.
ROSE : Ah, here we are.
ROSE : From the main doors guarding the sacred teaching grounds, Greater Teenager Feferi Peixes bursts in fifteen minutes late with a Scarbucks in hand. Another tragic story of a former star student turned tardy delinquent. Oh, how you’ve fallen, Peixes. How you’ve fallen indeed.
ROSE : Upon closer inspection, Feferi appears to be ferrying two Scarbucks cups from the watering hole to her personal stomping grounds.
ROSE : One of which she bestows on Aradia in a display of.. affection.
ROSE : ...
ROSE : God do I wish I had a girlfriend.
KANAYA : Hi
ROSE : YIPE!
To her credit, Rose recovers briskly, steepling her fingers in a way that communicates a casual yet dominant air. Or an air of pretentiousness. Could be either. Kanaya ignores this, entirely preoccupied with fitting the straps of her schoolbag around her chair. When she finishes arranging her things, she turns to face Rose.
KANAYA : I Couldnt Help But Notice You Narrating
KANAYA : Its Intriguing To Watch
KANAYA : In A Rather Dumb Way
ROSE : I imagine my futile attempt to fend off ennui is what’s attracted your scorn?
KANAYA : Maybe
KANAYA : Or Maybe Not
KANAYA : It Could Be That I Am Just Feeling Pithy Today
KANAYA : Who Knows
ROSE : Given the way this conversation is going, I doubt it’ll be me.
ROSE : Did you bring the notes?
KANAYA : Yes
KANAYA : Make Sure You Copy Them Below Eye Level
ROSE : I wouldn’t forget.
KANAYA : You Forgot Last Time And That
KANAYA : Was An Ordeal
ROSE : Which is precisely why I wouldn’t forget now.
ROSE : Now, if you would..?
KANAYA : Right Sorry
Kanaya fumbles with the clasp on her bookbag and lets it loose too quickly, allowing both the Runeography notes and several copies of illicit vampire fiction to tumble forth.
Rose and Kanaya lock eye. It’s one of the several loudly-spoken rules within their elite circle of communication, initially declared by Feferi and upheld by Vriska in her absence, that showing interest in human culture would count as social treason. Titles like “Dawn”, “Early Afternoon”, and “3:00 in the Bloody Morning is Too Early For Hot Vampires” flicker in the periphery of her vision, all of them noticeably human. Without breaking eye contact, Rose shifts the books back into the dread compartments from whence they came and transfers the notes to her lap. Kanaya’s shoulders sag in relief. Her hard earned pillar in adolescence’s feudalistic society won’t crumble today.
With that disruption settled, Rose returns her attention to the stolen matter at hand. Even though, technically, Kanaya freely offers her academic assistance, Rose can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt when sitting slack-mindedly in a lecture, certain in her friend’s ability to redeliver the information currently threading through one of her aural cavities and out the other.
It was four years ago when Kanaya had first timidly offered to jot down information for the non-track restricted classes, which her camaraderie had the displeasure of sharing. The answer on all lips would have been an immediate yes, if they weren’t slowed down by Feferi’s process of consideration.
It always held to a certain rhythm. There was the Searching of The Eyes, the Poking of The Tongue, and the devastatingly cute Thumbing of The Chin, all displayed for her audience’s sake. Because really, would she refuse free labor expended by a social anxiety-bound serf, all done entirely for her benefit? But her crowd of three held their breaths in anticipation of her verdict.
Because Feferi set the precedent.
Even though Feferi has placed herself under a self imposed exile from their group, for Kanaya, old habits die hard. So Rose copies diligently as the substitute Runeography professor projects an illusion of Bill Wry the potions guy in the place of an actual lesson plan. She copies and does not think about the pitchlike warmth tinged with chagrin that gushes through some cavern in her heart whenever she stares at Kanaya’s clinically sharp handwriting. And she does not dare wonder what would happen if she asked her to stop.