Chapter Text
You’re trying to decide if you want to light yourself on fire, the teenagers around you on fire, or a combination of the two.
Your name is Vriska Serket, and you are pissed off, as per usual.
You are currently attempting to weave your way through the crowded hallways that define your high school. You attempt, to no avail, because a group of kids in the hall decide it is a wonderful idea to stop right in the middle of the hallway, thirty seconds before the bell rings. This of course happens the moment you make the conscious decision to try to make your trek across the school in the allotted five minutes.
You think it’s ridiculous that all these people are still out here, and completely ignore the fact that you are one of them. You would think by now you would be past the point of frustration and anger, because something akin to this has happened every school day since you first started attending two and a half years ago, but no. You still manage to be angry.
You demonstrate this with a muttered, “move the fuck out of my way” and a shove to one boy’s shoulder.
You continue to push right through them and you hear a called out “Bitch!” from behind. You glace back with a sneer, but keep walking, because you’re you’d rather not risk the tardy and a call home. You aren’t sure if you have the energy to deal with your mom.
Your plan to finally get to Chemistry on time for the first time this semester is foiled exactly 8 steps after you pass the group of kids.
And of course, you happen to be the only one lucky enough to have a girl with a mess of red hair slam into you. You let an explicative fly in the form of insult.
You’ll say later that she ran into you, which even though is not completely accurate, it still is somewhat. She was moving quickly. In the back of your mind you know that the girl was probably just trying to make it to her class. Not that you care. The only thing you care about now is yourself, and how the she somehow manages to kick you on her way down to the ground. You hear the bell ring.
“Goddammit, now I’m late! Thanks a lot.”
For a moment, you are pissed enough to not help her up. You look down, and then realize that she didn’t kick you, but instead whacked you with the white and red cane that clattered to the ground along with her. Your eyes trail to hers, and upon noticing the red tinged glasses and foggy eyes you also realize that you’re in deep shit.
“Uh. Shit, sorry,” you say, bending down and frantically picking up a book of hers. She frowns and smacks your hand when she hears you pick up her cane.
“Just help me up.”
“Right, um. Yeah. Sorry,” you stumble over yourself to reach out your hand. She continues to sit there and looks none too impressed.
Right, blind.
You grab her hand and hoist her up. You hand her the book, a bit too forcefully and the surprise of it knocks her back a bit. You mentally kick yourself.
She grips the cane and, despite your actions, grins before speaking. “Thanks, now I’m going to class. Try not to run over any more blind people.”
With that, she heads off into the direction she was going, and you gape after her, before you remember that you’re also late. You run to your class, as if being late a minute instead of a minute and a half will make any difference.
She is in your sixth period history class.
You almost bite your tongue off, because really, these sorts of things only happen to you.
Your teacher introduces her as Terezi Pyrope and guides her to the back of the room and stops next to the empty seat to your left.
“I’ll have you sit next to Vriska,” he says, and then goes back to the front. She turns to face you with a smile and a hello.
You think about not answering her, but you decide she might not recognize your voice. “Hey.”
She smiles wider. “Look who it is!” she whispers, but somehow manages to seem loud at the same time. Not volume-wise, but energy-wise. She looks thoughtful for a second. “Well, not look. You understand my point.” You bite the inside of your cheek.
“Yeah.” Eloquent as ever, Serket.
“I’m Terezi Pyrope,” she says, extending her hand.
“No shit,” you say, because you’re an idiot. Her grin doesn’t falter and her arm remains hanging in the air. You hesitate. “Vriska Serket,” you say, taking her hand for the second time that day. This time you notice how soft her hands are.
And for the second time that day, you realize you are in deep shit.
Your history teacher keeps you up until the bell rings. When it does ring, you attempt to jump out of your seat and run out of the class. This is stopped, however, with a cane to the back of your leg.
“Ow! What the hell?” You say, a little dramatically.
“Where do think you’re going Serket? You owe it to me to help me find my bus!” she says with a cackle.
You huff. You try to tell her that you don’t owe her shit, but it comes out as a, “Fine, but just this once.”
“I only need once!” she says, almost proudly. You notice that she’s a pretty…excitable person. Yeah, excitable. “I’ll be able to find my way by myself after that.”
“Yeah, whatever,” you reply, as if this is a situation that is causing you great irritation. In reality, it is only causing you minor irritation.
Her cane clacks as you make your way through the hallway. People move out of her way when they see her coming. Maybe you should become blind too. You tell her as much.
“Physically and mentally abusive to the handicapped! When will the sins end?” she exclaims, but doesn’t look as offended as she should be. Damn.
“Would you rather I make fun of your height? You got to be what, four foot three? “
“That’s just illogical. I’m five foot four, which, for the record, is not that short at all! Maybe you’re just a giant!” You frown even more than you already are doing so. You are pretty tall.
“Did I hit a soft spot,” she continues, picking up on your pause. You think that if she smiles and wider her cheeks will rip open or something. “Do people make fun of you for being tall?” Her voice lowers into something like mock-sympathy. “It’s okay, I’m here for you.”
“Fuck off,” you say, but you think she thinks that you don’t mean it. Maybe you don’t.
She brings her hand to her chest, “You wound me, Serket,” she says with a grimace. She ruins it by breaking it into laughter. When you smile you make a mental note to slap yourself later, even though she can’t see it.
But, maybe she isn’t that bad. At least she’s amusing.
“So,” she starts as you walk out the doors, “aren’t you going to ask me where I moved here from?”
You almost do, but that would seem like you care. “No, I’m not.” you say instead, and she laughs. She does that a lot, you notice. “What’s the route number?”
“Forty-three,” she says, and you show her the right bus. Because even though you’re an asshole, you aren’t that much of an asshole. She starts to get on, but you stop her.
"Wait, how do you get home from your bus stop? Since, you’re, you know. Blind.”
“Sorry, that is classified information for blind eyes only!” With that, she boards the bus.
Your name is Vriska Serket, and you think you may have made a friend.