The Blood in their Breath (JohnKat) [IT'S CANCELLED]

Chapter 6: The Music Room, and Home Alone

~~WAIT WAIT IT'S NOT DONE~~

I walk into the music room, John and Tavros by my sides. Tavros heads off to assemble his saxophone, and a small-ish girl approaches us. I note that she's the girl who plays the love child of a saxophone and a clarinet. She smiles at us.

"Hey, John!" she greets. I can't help but notice that she avoids direct eye contact with us. "And you're Karkat, right?"

"Yeah," I reply. "Why?"

"Oh, nothing special," she replies modestly. "My name's Nebula, I play the bass clarinet, and I've come to deliver your sheet music. I'm also here to give you a little tutorial in the music class! To start with, there are still a few people re-learning how to use their instruments, like Tyler on the flute, or Sera on the French horn. So, if you hear someone sucking, don't think too badly of them." She pauses, waiting for my nod of understanding, then continues. "Next, there are a few people that skip a lot. Like McQueen, a clarinet. Unless you're cool with absolute judgement and irritation from the entire class, don't do it. If there's one thing you shouldn't ever do, it's skip Music. Not only is this class the most fun, probably, considering that literally you had a choice to sign up for it or not, but there's really no point to skip it, unless it's for a doctor's appointment or something." She takes a breath, as though she hadn't breathed through the entire thing, like Kankri might not have. "Uh, what else?" She thinks to herself. "Oh, right! We have a bunch of spare guitar pics and bows, so if you ever need to borrow one or the other, don't hesitate to ask! Any questions?"

"Yeah," John replies. "Why are you acting so... sweet?"

"Because, despite what rumors say about me," she begins, her voice taking a tone of venom, "I'm actually a very sweet person. I'm considerably passionate, though unmotivated, and I'm highly intelligent. Plus, I'm pretty, but no one really cares about those things. The only things people care about is that I suck at Gym and that I "overdramaticize" the situations, even though-"

"Okay, we get it," I snap. Shit. I didn't actually mean to snap at her, but she's beginning to sound exactly like my brother.

"Oh, right!" she exclaims. "Sorry, I guess I was being a bit inconsiderate. You probably really want to be able to run and do Gym stuff. Well, hey, I'd trade lungs if I could."

"No, you wouldn't," I respond. She looks at me directly. Her hazel eyes make direct contact with mine, and they almost seem golden. They have this look that says, "Go on. Why not?" "You wouldn't want lung cancer because not only would you die, it would be completely random. You'd wake up every morning with the thought, "Oh, am I going to survive today?" and you'd fall asleep thinking, "Oh, am I going to die in my sleep?" Every day, you'd wake up to overbearing parents, constantly checking up on you, only giving you a lick of space when you walk to school. If you had a phone, they'd be constantly texting and calling you to make sure that you're "alright"."

"See, look!" she exclaims. "You get it! Or, you almost do. I wake up every morning thinking, "Oh, what torture will I have to endure this morning?" and I go to sleep every night with the thought, "But what about tomorrow?" And then my parents constantly pressure me to "do better", to "do my best", when my best gets me a fif- Hey, I'll stop there. Emotions other than happiness, anger, frustration, passion, indifference and apathetic aren't really my thing. I don't even think that last one is an emotion." She laughs, a bit awkwardly, then an awkward pause ensues. "Right, well... Here's your sheet music." She hands me it.

"Thanks," I tell her, as she leaves.

John and I sit on the piano bench, and I tune my violin first, drawing it out of its red velvet interior.

"God, I hate her," John tells me.

This surprises me: John really doesn't seem like the kind of person with the capabilities to hate.