Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Your name is JOHN EGBERT, and you're editing a video essay to upload to the internet. Your pesterchum is going off like crazy, pinging every few seconds, and you're pretty certain it's Dave trying to throw you off your video editing game, but you won't be swayed or deterred.

You've got a bet with one of your best friends, a boy your age named Dave Strider. You're trying to see who can get more youtube views within a week. Dave already had a youtube channel to promote his — frankly mediocre, if you're being honest — rap career, but you had insisted he had to make a new channel for this bet to put you on equal footing.

As far as you're aware, neither of you have videos up yet, but that's about to change.

You put the end cap on your video essay (a full breakdown of the themes of Ghostbusters) and put it up on youtube. You really went the full ten miles for this — it's got snappy transition screens, background music (you've never appreciated the Undertale soundtrack as much as you do now, it's all free use, thank god for Toby Fox) and even closed captions. Your channel — despite being new — even looks cool enough that it can pass for just being the first video on a budding channel. And you do have to admit, even if editing was hard, filming and researching was pretty fun.

You copy the link and open your pesterchum to see — yep, that's Dave pestering you. Nonstop.

tg: dude
tg: egbert
tg: egbert are you there
tg: egbert please
tg: john come on i know youre online get your ass over here
eb: i was busy editing my video, dave!
eb: which you should also be doing if you want to win our bet :B
tg: ive got the raw footage already being processed ill send it later
eb: well I'VE got my video FINISHED as it turns out
tg: whoa
tg: no way
ectoBiologist sent a link!
tg: whoa
tg: a nerdy ass video essay
eb: hey!
tg: dont get your panties in a twist egbert
tg: never said that nerdy was bad
tg: this shits how you get a massive cult following
tg: youre gonna have a legion of nerds hanging on your every word
tg: you could tell them to like
tg: idk
tg: jump off a fuckin bridge
tg: and they probably would tbh
eb: i'm not gonna tell them to jump off a bridge dave
tg: never said you were gonna
tg: just said you could
eb: are you gonna watch it or what
tg: whoa trying to game the enemy for free views i see
tg: not very classy of you egbert
eb: you know that's not what i mean
tg: lmao
tg: nah ill watch it later
tg: oh hey btw since you sent me your vid
turntechGodhead sent a link!
tg: heres the raw uncut footage of my video
tg: have fun

You sit back in your chair, opening the file. You instinctively turn the volume on your headphones down, expecting a deep-fried shitpost.

Instead, you're met with the video starting up on a close-up of Dave's face. His sunglasses are on his face as always, the bottoms smudged with- is that glitter highlighter on his cheekbones? Is Dave Strider wearing makeup?

"Testing, testing, is this thing on?" he asks, backing away from the camera. His hair — his hair is absolutely not that long. It's put up in a ponytail behind him, the tips falling to a little past his shoulders. There's red streaked through it and you're absolutely certain he's got extensions in. He's dressed — quite simply — like a cute girl. His face is still impassive as always, but he's got his hair up and there's a red ribbon tied around it in a cute bow and he's wearing an off-the shoulder blouse.

"Sup John," the Dave in the video says in his usual deadpan tone. "So, I'm sure you're wondering why I'm dressed like this." He gestures at himself with one hand, which you now realize he has a frilly glove on.

You lean in to your computer, turning the volume back up on your headphones. This could still be an elaborate prank, but you're pretty sure Dave would only willingly wear makeup for a bet and not just to mess with you.

"Well, you see," he goes on, "you're probably gonna do something nerdy like a video essay. Which is fine and all but a video essay takes longer than a week to build up traction. I'm doing something easier, faster, and more in my wheelhouse. A music video."

You watch as he stands and walks a few feet away from the camera, adjusting a tiny microphone tucked into his blouse. He's wearing red kitten heels and a knee-length fluffy skirt. You'd never thought you'd ever get to see Dave Strider, cool kid extraordinaire, in a skirt.

"I had Roxy help me with getting my shit together. I know you had Jade help you with citing sources so it was fair, y'know?" He does a cutesy pose, still with the same deadpan face. "'course, Jade helped me with my choreo too. Rox' did my makeup and clothes, Dirk helped film, and Jade and Rose helped me out with choreo and shit like that. I swore them all to secrecy, of course. If Jake or Jane found out I was starting my career as a secret idol I'd fuckin explode on the spot. Well, Jane wouldn't give two shits but I think that Jake would be wayyy too excited. I don't need him fangirling over me in a skirt, thanks."

You pause the video and open pesterchum again.

eb: hey dave what the fuck
eb: are you seriously telling me that to win a bet you decided to become a fucking pop star??? idol???? person????
tg: shhhh keep watching egbert
tg: video me isnt done yet

You roll your eyes and turn back to the video.

"I do gotta be a hundred percent real with you, John Egbert," video Dave continues. "I may have told you one lie during this whole thing. You see, this isn't the raw footage of my video. What, do you think I just started filming by fucking monologuing? Nah, I'm already done with filming as of this recording. This is actually post-production."

What.

"In fact, my video's live as you're watching this. Current-Dave's gonna edit in the current number of views my video has right here," he points to the bottom of the screen, "right before sending this video to you."

The words " holy shit howd this hit 50k views so fast" appear right where video-Dave's pointing. It includes a screenshot of youtube analytics where a viewcount of a little over 50k is displayed.

"Yeah. Anywho, you should be getting pestered right about" he checks his wrist, where he is not wearing a watch, "now." Sure enough, you get a pesterchum notif. "That's gonna be my actual video. Hope you have fun watching it."

You click over to pesterchum where Dave's sent you a very smug looking emoticon and a link to a youtube video.

eb: i hate how you did that
eb: sent it at the exact second that video-you said you would, i mean
tg: what can i say egbert im good at dramatic timing
tg: now watch my mv boy

And so you do. You open the link and, sure enough, it takes you to a youtube video that isn't a rick roll. The channel icon is a bright red gear on a slightly darker background. The channel is titled "Dame Dawn <3 Knight of Time".

The video clicks on.

The first thing you notice is that Dave isn't wearing shades. Bright red eyes stare at you through the camera. They're squinted very minutely against the lights, and you almost swear you can see him developing a headache in real time.

The second thing you notice is that he's smiling. To someone who's seen his face before, it's clearly practiced and a little strained. Dave never really emotes and especially never smiles so it's small and reserved. In fact, as he moves around on camera, you note that all his gestures seem practiced. His usual cool-guy stance is eschewed in favor of a cutesy girly way of movement.

Despite how clearly you can tell he's practiced his smile and movements, you're pretty sure that if you'd never known this was Dave, you'd mistake his movements for natural, casual, even, and his smile for shy yet friendly.

Damn. Who let him be a natural at being an idol?

"Hello," he begins, and you nearly pull back from whiplash. It's clearly still his voice — you've spent enough time listening to him ramble to know the tone he uses — but there's energy injected into it and he's pronouncing things slightly differently. His voice isn't necessarily higher, it's just lighter. "Welcome to my channel. I'm Dawn-" he makes a heart with his hands as he speaks, "and this is my debut as the internet's newest idol. I hope to win your heart over with my performance here today."

He takes a breath, moving back from the camera. Unlike when he'd been filming the taunt he'd originally sent, he's dressed up a little more. Now you can clearly see he's only wearing a glove on his left (the camera's right) hand, and his right arm has a golden arm band on it. You're about fifty percent certain he's got a petticoat under his skirt now, and his entire outfit reeks of cutesy idol energy. Roxy did a surprisingly great job on his makeup, based on the way he glows in the lighting.

He's not in his room, you note as the lights slowly dim. As Dave shakes himself out, you survey the background, which looks either like Rose's guest room (decorated head-to-toe in Roxy's signature pink, all wizard paraphernalia hidden out of sight) or a rented studio space. Which is strange, as the video he sent originally was definitely filmed in his apartment.

The music comes on with a click and you watch him take in a measured breath and then sing along in time with the music.

The track he's chosen to cover seems to be Heart Attack by Demi Lovato. It's a shockingly Dave choice, fitting the sort of music he'd enjoy ironically as well as the sort of cute, upbeat, pop music his newfound idol persona would choose.

He moves fluidly, his skirt swirling around his legs as he dances to the music. It's clear that Jade helped with his dance, but he pulls it off surprisingly well. He walks, turns, and spins in heels like he's been in them all his life. Even his dramatic gestures — including one moment where he falls to the ground smoothly on "the feelings got lost in my lungs" and stays there until the next bridge, the camera following him the entire way — are pulled off perfectly.

More impressively than anything is the fact that he sounds good. He's not just lip-syncing — or if he is, it's to his own performance of the song. He's a rapper first and foremost, but his diction is perfect, and he's on key. His voice is rich and powerful, and if you didn't know he had a floundering career as a soundcloud rapper, you'd swear he was classically trained in this sort of thing. You'd actually buy an album of this, if he had one out.

He ends the song with hands held in front of his chest in a heart, one eye closed in a cutesy wink.

You hate to admit it, but that's one of the best goddamn music videos you've ever seen. Out of the 50k views on it — which, wow, he wasn't lying, he genuinely has over 50 thousand views in the span of a couple days — he's got a little under 3 thousand likes.

Reluctantly, you pull pesterchum back up again. Dave's still online, though he's surprisingly not pestering you constantly.

eb: you actually filmed a music video
eb: in a skirt and everything
eb: you actually unironically did your makeup and danced to a pop song for internet clout
tg: hey i do nothing unironically
tg: i learned a dance to a pop song and did it in a skirt ironically
eb: you're seriously trying to tell me that you let roxy do your makeup that well and that glittery ironically?
eb: wait nvm you absolutely would
tg: id do anything ironically john
tg: including let my half sisters cousin put me in a dress and enough glitter to kill a horse
tg: even one of those horses that dirks obsessed w
tg: the magical rainbow ones
tg: yknow what i mean
tg: you feel me
tg: do you feel me egbert
eb: lol yeah i feel you dave
tg: ew gross get your hands off me egbert
eb: -_-
tg: lol
tg: anyways yeah thats my music video
tg: the world will bow to my awesome musical ability
tg: my perfectly timed dancing and fuckin godly singing ability will make everyone bow before me
eb: yeah, sure dave
eb: whatever you say
tg: admit it you just dont want to admit i killed it

You don't want to admit he killed it, actually.

eb: hey it's late i'm gonna turn in for the night
eb: night dave!
tg: john wait
tg: admit that i looked cute in that skirt
tg: ik youre thinking it
tg: its not even five for you dude
eb: night dave!

You close pesterchum and your computer before you can respond. You are actually pretty tired, and it's pretty much dinner time, so you figure you actually will go to sleep early.

Chapter Text

Your name is ROSE LALONDE, and as of this moment, you're taking it upon yourself to be your half-brother's stage manager.

He doesn't know this yet, of course. You're a woman of many secrets, after all, and all he knows as of now is that his ironic video of himself dressing up as a cute girl to sing pop songs is doing well.

It's been barely over a week since Dave's bet with John, a bet which Dave thoroughly won. Roxy has already left to go back to her home — a pity, really. Her makeup really made him glow — and Dave seems to think he's left the whole idol thing behind.

The thing is, you've never seen him seem that satisfied with himself.

Obviously his face and body language were completely unreadable during filming. Jade had been teaching him choreography for his performance and you had been helping him practice smiling and speaking with a softer tone, to mixed success. As was expected of someone of his fitness levels, once he got the principles down, Dave had taken to the dance like a fish to water. Your work, however, had been a different story. It was near impossible to get him to smile more than a tiny bit. But you had worked on getting it soft and gentle, and his dimples were still showing, to the delight of the YouTube audience, so you consider it a success.

But even ignoring his obscured face and body language — which, granted, is never a big help with him on a normal day — you can just tell he had been having a good time. Something about the way he'd seemed more comfortable practicing in the skirt Roxy had lent him, the easy way he shrugged on the blouse, the way he'd messed with the ends of the hair extensions in his ponytail. Some might call you crazy for it, but you can read Dave Strider like a motherfucking book.

And so, you pull up pesterchum. You're not pestering your dear, beloved half brother now. No, that would be too simple. Instead, you pull up Jade's pesterchum, allowing yourself to grin as you do.

tentacleTherapist [TT] has begun pestering gardenGnostic [GG]!
gg: rose!! hey! what's up?
tt: I bet you fifteen dollars that I can forcefem Dave Strider.
gg: WHAT

<== Be the other guy.

Right now? What? But things are getting interesting over here!

Well, alright. I guess there's no harm in being the other guy for a little bit. We can do that if you really want.

Your name is now DAVE STRIDER, and you're never going to get all this glitter out of your skin.

You really never should have let Roxy anywhere near your face. Once you'd seen glitter highlighter, you should have hightailed it out of there. But you'd been too committed to the bit — which you don't regret, for the record — and now you're going to find glitter every time you wash your face for fucking weeks.

Totally worth it though. You'd beaten John by a fuckin landslide, landing somewhere around 120k views compared to his measly 10. You're a little impressed that your cute girl idol shtick worked so well. You're pretty equally impressed that Roxy had enough red in her wardrobe to pull off dressing you up. (You'd told her you were allergic to pink and that if she put you in anything paler than crimson you'd have a breakout of dunking-your-face-in-water, which would ruin the makeup she'd done. She'd rolled her eyes but agreed to search for red. The socks had ended up pink, as had the fluffy thing she made you put on before the skirt — seriously, who has a pre-skirt-skirt?? — but it was good enough that you only pulled one strand of red tinsel out of your hair in retaliation.)

You open your youtube analytics, tabbing first on instinct to your main channel. As is typical, you don't have much more attention than normal. Which, you know, you haven't posted a new rap in a while, so it makes sense. The comments have started trying to check on you.

Hesitantly, you switch google accounts to your burner to see if your "idol debut" is still gaining traction.

And you're met with another few thousand views and at least a hundred more subscribers than you had when you went to bed last night. People really, really like the idol girl you dressed up as, huh. Like, you knew you had a serious set of pipes and of course you were fast and fluid enough to do the over-the-top dance Jade had you practicing for literal hours. It's just. Surprising. Seeing that your work on your rap career had translated to a shitpost this well.

Your pesterchum goes off with a grating sound and you press the keybind to bring it up.

tentacleTherapist [TT] has begun pestering turntechGodhead [TG] !
tg: rose lalonde
tg: to what do i owe the honor
tg: didya miss me that much
tg: bc we spoke in person like three days ago
tg: i mean not that im mad to be talking
tg: you just tend to like
tg: give me the good old silent treatment for a couple days after i go back to my bros
tt: Yes, well, usually I do prefer to give you time to re-acclimate to your brother's house.
tt: What can I say, it's a side effect of knowing that you have it a tad rougher over there than you do during your weeks with us.
tg: wtf i dont have it rougher here my bros awesome
tg: wait
tg: lalonde are you here to psychoanalyze my relationship w my bro orrrrr
tt: Yes, well.
tt: It has to do with your "debut" the other day, as it were.
tg: that shitty video i did
tg: ?
tg: for the bet w egbert
tt: Exactly.
tt: How many subscribers would you say you have, now?
tg: uhhhhh

You tab back to youtube for a second. Yeah you know the number, but you still wanna double check. Knowing Rose, she's actively staring at your channel.

tg: like
tg: idk 20k or smth
tg: what abt it
tt: Dave, you have an opportunity here.
tt: Think about it, how often do you get a channel that blows up this fast?
tg: where are you going with this lalonde
tt: Straight to the point, as always.
tt: I think you can make a career out of this idol business.

If you weren't certain it would attract Bro's attention had he been home — and more importantly, blow your coolkid image to shreds — you'd've just reacted out loud.

tg: youve gotta be kidding me rose
tg: you want me
tg: cool manly tough guy dave strider
tg: ME
tg: to do the dressing up in your cousin's clothes thing
tg: but like
tg: as a job
tg: is that what youre telling me rn rose
tt: That's exactly what I'm saying, yes.
tt: I'll even be your stage manager. If Roxy's out of town, I can do your makeup and costuming.
tt: If you'd like to shift your brand, I can get you different clothes. I think a cape would look good on you.
tg: a cape
tg: really
tt: Really.
tt: Think about it, Dave.
tentacleTherapist has ceased pestering turntechGodhead!

You stare at the screen for a few seconds in absolute shock.

You're not idol material. Not permanently. It was funny for a bit but does she really think you can spend that much time dancing in fucking heels? What, is she gonna try and get you to grow out your hair? Fuck, you mentally bring it back to the glitter caked into your skin from Roxy's glitter highlighter.

Although.

There's nothing saying you can't eventually start incorporating rap segments into dime-a-dozen pop songs. The choreo had been shockingly easy — at least compartively. You'd been allowed to mess with the camera work, too, even though Dirk had been the one actually in charge of it.

Plus, if you were being dressed by Rose instead of Roxy, you'd probably have a lot more options for not frilly clothing. Maybe you could even swing for a pair of stage-shades so that the video lights don't hurt your eyes as much — who woulda guessed that wearing shades indoors would give you a light sensitivity? Definitely not you.

You're actually considering this. Fuck.

tg: rose

Her pesterchum comes back online after a second.

tt: Dave.

You hesitate for a long while, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Nervously, you type and retype your message multiple times. Finally, you press send.

tg: your plan
tg: to make me a full-time idol
tg: im in

There's a long pause where you can practically feel her grinning at you through the screen. You're tempted to send another message when pesterchum notifies you of a response.

tt: Excellent.
tt: Meet me at mine as soon as you can.
tt: Bring your camera.
tt: I hope the world is ready to see more of Dawn Strider.

You roll your eyes, considering sending another message, but ultimately decide against it. She can refer to your stage persona as her own person if she wants to. You've already pretty set the "Dawn" persona apart from you, anyways.

Luckily for you, your Bro's out of the house and you know he won't be too upset as long as you're home before he is. You shut down your computer, check that you have your phone, and fix your hair. As it always is, your cameras are sitting on a desk in the corner of your room. Your film camera is usually your go-to for all things film-related, but it's kinda hard to film with it — it takes a lot of film and is such a bitch and a half to upload — so you snag your digital camera and put it into its case.

Despite technically being able to leave, you still head immediately for the fire escape. You know Bro's not home. But you just feel slightly safer swinging your leg over the windowsill and ducking out onto the rusty-ass metal staircase. If you'd been anyone else, it would have creaked loudly. But you're you, and you're one badass motherfucker with a lot of practice, so you land softly and silently, closing the window with one hand.

Luckily for you, Rose Lalonde lives about a bus ride away. Her mom's stupid rich so she's got enough houses to make a small victorian orphan faint. Ever since her 13th, Rose has been living in a fully paid for flat a few miles away from your place. It's convenient having her so close instead of halfway across the country like she used to be.

The bus ride is largely uneventful — you hand over your pocket money, pick a spot in the middle back, and keep your head down and your phone in your pockets until you get to your stop. Someone nearly bumps your camera and you resist every instinct to flashstep away. Rose — probably expecting you to take the bus even though you've definitely walked that distance before — is waiting at the stop with a grin on her face. You get off, rolling your eyes behind your shades.

"Lalonde."

"Strider." She holds out a hand, the shit-eating grin only widening. " Glad to see you made it."

You, in fact, refuse to take her hand mostly out of pettiness.

"I didn't say I was coming immediately," you point out, picking at a loose thread in your sweater pocket.

"Oh, consider it a sixth sense for these things. You always seem to have a grasp of the finer details of time, I can tell where people are going to be. More or less." Her hand returns to her side and she starts down the pathway to her apartment. You follow her, making sure to keep your pace measured and a few steps behind.

"Hey, at least my spooky-ass time shtick isn't as creepy as you showing up wherever people are." She shoots you a look over her shoulder, rolling her eyes playfully.

"Oh, please, as if you wouldn't get lost without me showing up."

"As if I haven't lived here longer that you have."

She stops in front of her apartment building and gestures at the street ahead of you both. "If you're so smart, Strider, why don't you lead the way?" You roll your eyes behind your sunglasses.

"Nice try. We're at your apartment." She chuckles.

"Right you are. Why don't you come in."

You do, and she follows you, leading the way up to a posh two-bedroom apartment. Once again, you're struck with jealousy that she lives alone in an apartment the size of the one you share with your Bro. Not that you particularly mind living with your Bro. He's cool, and his puppets don't freak you out like they do Jade.

You flop down on Rose's couch, going to put your feet up on her coffee table before she gives you a look and you pull back, hands in the air.

" So why'd you need me here so fast?"

"What, can't I just want to start my dearest, darling half-brother's career as the world's newest favorite darling in a dress?" She smiles, sitting in a plush chair across from you and folding her hands. "Truly, Dave, you wound me."

"You could record me dancing to shit music like. I don't know. Tomorrow. Why today?"

"Because. I wanted to get started as soon as possible, and I figured if you were free, this was a good chance. Also, who said I was planning on filming a music video today?"

"Uh, the fact that you asked me to bring the camera? Implies that we're doing filming today." To drive home your point like a nail that's been sticking sideways out of a 2-by-4 for four score days and seven nights, you — gently, this thing was expensive — put your camera on the table.

"Maybe. Maybe not." Her smile changes to something more dangerous. "Maybe I tricked you into doing a fashion show."

A fashion show. With Rose Lalonde. You are fucked three ways to fucking Sunday and you tell her as much.

"Rose you know you're my half sister and so I annoy you in special unique ways and you tolerate me in special unique ways. But if you seriously invited me here to put me in dresses I am going to perform the most pitch perfect acrobatic pirouette off the fucking handle this world has ever seen."

She pulls a metal box out from under the table, opening it with a click. Even from here, you can see palettes and glitter sparkling in the low light of the room.

"Better get to the acrobatics, then, Strider," she tells you, grinning like she's just found out she's the lost-long queen of fucking England. "We've got a long, long, long day of glitter and petticoats for you."

Chapter Text

Your name is DAVE STRIDER, and you've been put in less petticoats today than you'd've expected.

You're sitting on Rose's bed, one arm held out with a bored look on your face. She's fitting a collection of random assorted jewelry items on you. As had been decided by Roxy during the first round of filming, a golden armband was kinda required — which, strange, but it looks cool as shit and doesn't conflict with your vibe, so you can get behind it. Rose has been tending towards putting you in chains, draping them off your shoulders, pinning them to your waist, and as of now, securing them around your wrist. She says chains — and you quote — "add to the ambiance of a lady knight". You think it's what experts would call "lame as shit". You look like you're a breakout from the world's most gilded prison.

You fucking jingle when you move. You hate it here.

The room is filled with thrifted and rented red clothing items. True to her word, Rose had put you in at least one cape. It was comfortable — something you'd thought you'd never say in your life — and it did add a cool vibe that you liked. Not when paired with a poofy skirt though. You think you're going to explode if you have to wear another poofy skirt.

You roll your eyes at yourself. 'You're going to explode' you're already in another poofy fucking skirt. It crinkles when you move.

"Something the matter?" You meet Rose's eyes, turned up at you from where she's kneeling on the floor, messing with a chain.

"Uh, what?" you ask dumbly.

"You rolled your eyes." She arches an eyebrow. "Are you perhaps sick of me fiddling with your professional wear?" Fuck. You'd kinda forgotten your shades are off and have been for the better part of an hour. She'd turned down the lights to do your makeup and just. Left them turned down so she could throw clothes at you like you were the laundry basket.

"First of all, don't call this-" you wave a hand at your cutesy get-up "professional. I'm in knee-high socks and ankle boots."

"And you'll be wearing this in a professional setting, technically." She straightens up and tosses you a single red glove. You roll your eyes again — pointedly this time — and put it on the hand opposite the armband. Another thing Roxy had made a part of your permanent brand.

"Hell of a professional setting," you retort. Clearing your throat, you slip into the idol voice you'd practiced before filming. "It's not a professional setting if you're paying me to do a fuck-up of a cute girl voice." Your delivery is about as deadpan as everything you do — maybe a little less — but you do it in a lighter tone, so you call it good.

Rose gives you a look. "Your blatant hatred for the idol scene is noted and disregarded. You agreed to this, Strider, and if you back out now I am making you pay for everything I bought for this."

"Yeah, well," you let your voice fall back to its normal tone, "I'm kinda too deep into ruffles to back out."

"Good. Now put this on and go look in the mirror." She presses another bundle of fabric into your hands. It's red — like everything else in this room is — and soft. Unfolding it proves it to be another cape. It's got cute bows and little silver buttons. Silver isn't the color Rose has been putting you in, though, and you shoot her a look for it.

"Gold and silver? Together? And here I thought I was the one getting dolled up, but even I know not to mix metals like that. Tsk tsk, Lalonde." You shake your head at her judgementally, standing up and shaking out your half-asleep arm. She rolls her eyes.

"I'll paint them golden later if you're going to be pedantic about it."

"Hey, you're the one trying to be my stage manager. You should appreciate my attention to detail." You step forward, cape firmly around your shoulders, and you distinctly do not trip due to forgetting you're in heels. Rose snickers and you shoot her a nasty look she can absolutely see.

"I don't appreciate you thinking you know more about fashion than I do, that's all. I've been dressing in skirts for longer than you've been rapping."

"Yeah, well, at least my fashion sense is—" You find yourself cutting off as you turn to face the full-length mirror Rose has on her wall.

You blink, and the girl in the mirror blinks back.

Rose's makeup job is a lot subtler than Roxy's was — your face is less caked in glitter than it is properly highlighted. There's trace amounts on your cheekbones and nowhere else. Your hair is tied back into a ponytail again, tied with the same flashy red ribbon as before, though there's no tinsel woven through it, just red. The red highlights creep all the way up to your scalp, mixing with bleach-blond. Your eyes are startlingly red, which isn't new but always surprises you when you see them without the tint of the shades. The skirt is cheesy and poofy, but it's a nice shade of red and isn't too over the top. Everything is tasteful — ignoring the tragedy of the buttons — and matches — again, ignoring the buttons.

You… you hadn't thought about it, the first time you'd been here. In Roxy's clothes, Roxy's makeup, Roxy's hand-me-down jewelery. It had been a bet, and you'd been borrowing.

This is all bought or rented for you. And yeah, most of it is thrifted, and yeah, all of it's cheap, but there's a difference between borrowing someone else's clothes and wearing your own. The hair extensions are a better match this time, instead of being hastily bleached to match your hair. You look shockingly natural, and it's yours and it's weird. And now you're thinking about it, thinking about the girl in the mirror, thinking about the peculiar expression on her face and the way it softens in confusion. The hairline scars covered in foundation and glitter. You're really thinking about it.

You're so transfixed on your reflection that for a second you forget it's you. You reach out with one hand, then haltingly change to pull at the skin under your eyes. Gold really does look good on you, and the cape swirls around you, and the skirt less bounces and more sways. You feel mobile and light in a way you never feel in jeans.

You feel good.

Abruptly, you come to your senses and pull back from the mirror, turning away in one swift movement. Not giving Rose a time to say something smug — you can already see her mouth opening, probably to gloat or tease, the rat bastard you call your half-sister — you strike a cutesy pose and play up the girl voice as much as physically possible.

"World's cutest anime loser idol girl, reporting for duty with a song in her heart," you speak like you're reciting a line, relying on your killer fucking improv skills honed through years of dropping sick beats to carry you. "Get real, Lalonde," your follow-up sentence immediately sees your face returning to perfectly monotone and flat. "Do you really think a get-up like this would work on anyone."

By all metrics, you've nailed the turnaround. Irony laid on thick enough to bury whatever genuine emotion you may have considered feeling — if any — in a second, followed by the patented Strider Charm (being a dick unnecessarily).

Rose's smirk fades into a half-smile, one eyebrow raised.

"Seems like it worked on you."

And you don't dignify that with a response because it doesn't deserve one. Because nothing worked on you. Because the mirror is showing some fucking anime girl, someone's stupid doll done up in fancy fucking clothing, done up to the nines in something no one in their right mind would wear. Because you can practically feel yourself breaking out in hives the longer you wear this stupid skirt, the more the gold jewelery glitters against your skin.

This is fucking stupid, from top to bottom. It's a nice illusion, you guess, but that's all it is. An illusion. It breaks as soon as you apply any amount of critical thinking skills to it. Honestly, you never should have even agreed to go along with this plan.

You tell her as much, starting from the response you're not giving, shouldn't be giving, whatever. You'd keep going for as long as she lets you, until she gets sick of you or until you have to go home and risk Bro's wrath.

She stops you, of course.

"You can always back out," she tells you, her voice uncharacteristically quiet. "This isn't a dare or a bet anymore. If you're truly uncomfortable, you can change back into your t-shirt and jeans and leave. I won't fault you. I was bluffing when I said I'd charge you, earlier."

"Fuck, Lalonde, no," you snap, balling your fists in the poofiness of the skirt. "I'm not fucking uncomfortable, fuck that noise. Fuck it dry in the ass with a cactus."

"You seem pretty uncomfortable to me."

"Yeah, fuck no. I wouldn't have gotten halfway this far if I was uncomfortable. I woulda dropkicked you half an hour ago."

"Then what, pray tell, is your objection?"

"It's unbelievable," you insist. "Look at me, Rose, I look like a dude in a dress."

"Do you?" She raises an eyebrow in the way you've come to associate with her getting ready to therapize you.

You won't give her the fucking chance.

"Yeah, I do," you spit out. "I look uncomfortable and weird. I'm too like big and bulky for this shit and I look like I was born yesterday. I don't look anything like a chick."

"Strider-"

"I don't want to hear it, Lalonde,"

"Listen,"

"You think you know me better than I do, don't you-"

"That's not what I-"

"Well, guess what-"

"Dave."

Your mouth shuts with a click. You're breathing like you just came out of a strife with Bro, heavy and shaky and too hopped up on adrenaline to realize your shoulders are heaving. Rose walks forward and places her hands — slowly, gently, watching your body language as she does, the closet she ever gets to nervous and treating you like you're made of fucking glass — on your shoulders. You flinch. She doesn't move.

"Do you really look like a man in a dress or are you telling yourself that?"

"What does that even mean?" you ask, less fight in your voice than you'd like.

"It means, is it easier to look in the mirror and pretend you see a man wearing a dress, or do you really think you are one? Do you feel uncomfortable because thinking of yourself as a girl is too difficult or because you're truly not a girl?"

You hesitate for too long. You know it's too long, and she knows it's too long, but you're refusing to give her any ground and just scrambling for an answer that doesn't make you feel like you're being set on fucking fire.

"You're really gonna try some fuckin psycho mumbo-jumbo on me now?"

"It isn't mumbo-jumbo. It's an honest question."

"It's a stupid fucking question, is what it is."

"That may be so. Think about it anyways."

For real this time, you don't answer. You don't need to. She won't take no for an answer and you'd rather set yourself on fire than tell her yes. And she'll drop it here if you do, with everything out of both your systems. And you do, and she does, and she helps you wash your face, and you kick her out of her own room so you can change back into your clothes.

She promises that if there's a next time, if you show up at her place with your camera and an armband that insists you keep, you'll film. She insists that you don't have to announce that's why you're coming over, and if you decide never to speak of this again, she won't either.

In a gesture too genuine for either of you, she pulls you in for a hug, and you hug back. It's awkward and horrible and done right as you're leaving her apartment. You both pull back and swear never to do that again, laughing at yourselves in whatever reserved way you both can. It resets the energy back to a comfortable baseline.

You leave her apartment and get on your bus. As is usual for you, you beat Bro by five minutes and are able to pretend like you never left. Your life falls back into a rhythm easily, before the day's even over.

True to her word, Rose doesn't bring it up again. You talk to her and she doesn't mention it, doesn't tease you about how you look in makeup, doesn't insult the way you walk in heels. Nothing. It's surprising coming from her, but made less surprising because you've never known Rose Lalonde to break a promise.

You meet her at her house on Sunday, a golden armband wrapped around your left bicep and your camera slung over your right shoulder.

Chapter Text

Your name is DIRK STRIDER, and you think if you have to put up with your cousin nitpicking your camera work for a second longer you're going to tear his cape right down the fucking middle. Or yank his hair extensions. You could go for either.

It's hour three of filming with Rose Lalonde and Dave Strider, the former switching between writing on her clipboard and doing something on her phone, the latter hovering over your shoulder to critique your filming techniques.

"Dave, I know how to work a camera," you stress, raising an eyebrow. "Don't you have a shitty dance to do?"

"Dude chill the fuck out," he replies, throwing his hands up defensively. "I just wanna make sure it looks good. Rose spent too long on my makeup for your camera work to be dogshit."

"It'll look fine, Dave, god." You pinch the bridge of your nose. "I'm literally blowing off Jake for this shit. I could be at his watching a shitty movie that he swears up and down is good and I'm here, being subjected to some shithead in heels telling me how to do the job he asked me to do."

"Hey, I didn't ask you to do shit, Rose did. I'm just the star of the show, she's the one actually running it." From her seat on top of one of the speakers, the Lalonde in question gives you a one-handed wave.

"Sure seems to me like you want to be running the show," you retort.

"I don't want to be in charge of the whole thing," he grumbles.

"Listen, I'm a control freak but at least I can admit it, unlike your glittery ass. Now get said glitterbomb in frame and at least let me shoot once so I can show you that my camera set-up is fine."

He rolls his eyes and walks back to his mark, heels clicking. You've already filmed the vlog section of this — a cute little introduction filmed a few days ago with Jade on set. Now you're onto the hardest part — or maybe the easiest, given how agile Dave is — the dance.

The audio is, of course, pre-recorded using some of Dave's audio equipment back at his flat. He'd insisted on being wired during his performance to splice the audio together for a more natural sound, and you hadn't cared so you'd let him set it up. He'll still be singing during this performance.

Today's song is another pop song best known for nightcore remixes with stolen art of anime girls. You're pretty sure that's going to be the vibe for a long time, or at least until Dave's stage persona has built up enough of a fanbase to experiment. Currently, his channel's almost plateaued. Which is fine, actually — if he's looking to make money he could probably actually get AdSense on this shit now. He already qualifies and then some. Even if he's looking for fame, he's pretty well known as Dame Dawn at this point.

A part of you is distantly proud — and by distantly you of course mean extremely, but you're not gonna verbalize that even to yourself beyond self-aware meta ramblings. You have some sense of self-respect. But right, you were saying: A part of you is distantly proud of everything Dave's accomplished so far. The bet was one thing, the commitment to the bit another. Going through with some harebrained scheme from Rose Lalonde of all people? That takes fucking guts. Granted, it's a pretty harmless scheme so far.

That is, operating under the impression that your cousin's cis.

As it stands, this whole idol business only works one of two ways — if Dave is comfortable in his masculinity or if he's absolutely not. If he's cisgender and comfortable then he's just fucking around and finding out. If he was cisgender and not, then you wouldn't be here listening to a performance of Attention (Charlie Puth).

If Dave's trans and in denial, however. Well. You're pretty sure that's where a Rose Lalonde Special would come into play.

You don't know all of Rose's plan. First and foremost because no one ever knows all of Rose's plans for anything — when she decides to start pulling shit, she means business, and usually people are only told whatever she needs them to know and nothing more. The inner machinations of her mind are a mystery, and that's part of the reason you're so close with her.

But secondly, you don't know all of her plan because, well, you're not a part of it.

As you watch your cousin do the cutesy dance routine, fingers tapping idly on the control terminal for the fifty billion cameras you have set up (well, it's closer to three, maybe four, but you're vaguely sick of Dave nitpicking and so you can be salty), you chance a glance at Rose.

She's still focused in whatever she's doing, although her legs have been tucked under her instead of dangling in front of the audio equipment like it was before. She's incredibly focused, which isn't surprising for her but just makes you more curious.

You'd only learned Rose was scheming something at all — aside from the surface level idol biz — through Roxy, who had herself only known because she'd overheard Rose talking to Jade. So your knowledge is pretty damn weak, actually. Which is fucking bullshit because you're the first guy to be looped into Rose's schemes half the time as you're one of the only people on her level. (You love Roxy and Dave, they're your best friend and favorite cousin respectively, but Rox is always too off in her own world and Dave's great at getting out of stuff he doesn't want to be involved in, which is basically anything. Neither of them are into the intellectual shit you and Rose do.)

You might corner her when you're done here, you decide. See what she's up to.

You refocus on the cameras, tabbing between them quickly to make sure they're all still running. Left-side camera is low on battery but will last til everyone here has to go home. Perfect.

It's with detached, clincal interest that you watch Dave finish up his routine. The last bit can't be filmed ahead of time, it'll lose its impact, so you brace yourself and cease recording on all other cameras so you can focus on the center-stage one for the finishing monologue.

"Thank you all so, so much for watching. I can't tell you how much it's meant to me" eyes closed so he can focus on smiling gently, just as planned, "that everyone who subscribed was willing to give me their attention after just one video. Thank you to my fans." Perfect irony is clouded in sincerity, as you've always said, and if he was going for irony there then it was perfect. "I hope to see you again in the near future, but until then, this is your Knight of Time, Dame Dawn, signing off." He pauses, holding the pose, until you shut down the camera.

He stays there for a little bit after, too, because you're an asshole and wait an extra fifteen seconds to tell him you've shut it down. For funsies.

"How'd I do," he asks, voice falling dead flat again.

"Decent," you reply, queueing up the video feed for the middle camera. "All recording went smoothly — like I said it would — and I got good footage. You didn't misstep or misspeak at any point and even remembered the specific facial movements for the end segment."

"Sweet." He pushes you out of the way and you move to let him review the footage.

Wordlessly, you walk over to Lalonde, adjusting your shades. She doesn't look up from her work, instead simply raising an eyebrow at you.

"I'm busy."

"Can't a guy want some one-on-one time with his cousin's half sister?"

"Not when said cousin's half-sister is busy."

"Hm. And to think I was planning to offer help."

"What, do you want to arrange recording spaces and analyze music trends for me?"

"I do have a program for tha-"

"You need to stop referring to your auto-responder as "a program for that". I'm sure he doesn't appreciate being a generic program for any and every whim that strikes you."

"Fine. I do have an artifically developed friend who could help with that."

She gives you the most scalding look you've ever seen — which is pretty damn impressive, considering you have a tendency to practice your glares in the mirror.

"I had no idea you and Hal were friends."

"We're not. Do you want my help or not."

You watch as she pauses, and considers. She lifts her pen all the way to her mouth, seems to realize she's about to chew on it, and settles for tapping it on her chin instead. After a few beats, she gives a melodramatic and long suffering sigh.

"Fine. Have Hal do it. Is that all you wanted, to derail me from my work and peer-pressure me into letting you and your ai clone do it all?"

"Nah." You allow yourself a small grin, leaning in closer and angling your body away from Dave. "You're scheming something, Rose Lalonde. I want in."

She arches an eyebrow again. "Am I truly that transparent." It's a statement, not a question, dry and biting. "Whatever shall I do with myself. My cleverly hidden scheme. Destroyed."

Your face falls back to flat. "Please. It's like you think that anyone but I would see through you."

"You say as if you didn't hear about it from Roxy." Now it's her turn to crack a miniscule smile, leaning in smugly.

"What does Rox have to do with this?" If you've fallen for her schemes, you're actually going to go apeshit.

"Oh, overheard some things I was telling Jade in vague enough terms to tell you and get you interested. Or, in other words — plant a seed so you'd walk right into my scheme."

"Fuck." You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. "One point for you, I guess. There goes my leg up."

"Truly, the worst dishonor of all — losing to a girl three years your junior in a scheming competition." It's not a real competition, there are no rules or scores. But right now it feels pretty damn real to you, the loser of the scheming competition. Your reputation is in tatters.

"I'll get you for this one day," you mutter, immediately realizing how much of a fucking cartoon villain you sound like. God.

"I have no doubt you will," she retorts, sounding somehow more like a disney villain than you do.

"So, now that I've fallen for your trap," you deadpan, "what's the scheme."

Instead of an answer, she shows you her clipboard. In looping handwriting, she's written out what looks like a to-do list.

• Watch Con-Air with John and pretend not to hate it.
• First round of filming.
• Make condescending bet with Jade.
• Go shopping for gold jewelry that Dave finds palatable.
• Bitch to someone about half-brother's fashion tastes being surprisingly specific.
• Schedule recording space slots.
• Look into music video props.
• Watch as many idol videos as possible to figure out trends.
• Analyze chart topping songs.
• Don't have a mental breakdown from the sheer amount of idol content.
• Sit on floor clutching head and repeating "I will get Dave Strider to be an idol".
• Be normal again.
• Ask Roxy how to use hair extensions better.
• Rope Dirk into forcefem scheme.

You watch her cross off the last point on the list, vaguely baffled. Mildly bewildered, even. One might even go so far as to say confused. One would be wrong, of course, but if there's anyone who can make you confused, it's the girl sitting in front of you.

"What do you mean forcefem scheme."

"Oh, you know. The forcefem scheme. The one you can longer back out of."

"I think you underestimate how much I can get out of anything I don't want to."

"Oh, no, I know you could refuse. But I'm correctly estimating other things. You're not going to back out now. Your pride wouldn't let you."

She's right, of course. You resist the urge to sigh overdramatically.

"Who are we forcefemming and how."

"I'll tell you later," she promises, lifting her clipboard again. "When we all go home, I'll pester you with the details."

You roll your eyes behind your sick ass shades and turn back to face Dave who-

Aw, fuck. He's messing with your camera terminals again. Can't leave shit with that guy.

"Dave! Drop it," you call, running over. And thus begins another argument about your setup — even though it's perfectly fucking fine and worked for the whole-ass music video you just did. Your life is going to be arguing with your cousin about camera settings, now, isn't it.

Chapter Text

Your name is DAVE STRIDER, and you're exhausted.

You're at a get-together with your friends. Roxy's out of town — as is Dirk, who took Jake with him — and so it's only your core friend group. Rose, Jade, John, and you. Usually someone'd invite Jane, but everyone had agreed that she'd be too much to handle without someone else balancing her out. No hate to her, of course, it's jus that there's only so many times you can listen to one girl lowkey vaguepost-complain about her crush dating your cousin. Also, she only really shows up to these parties for Jake, Dirk, and Roxy. Something, something, you'd made too many jokes about "Egbert's smoking hot older stepsister" for her tastes.

Which is fair. You did do that.

This party is happening at Rose's place, as most parties do in this friend group. Your flat is off limits for obvious reasons, John's place means you run the risk of having to include Jane and slash or get smothered in baked goods, and Jade's place is too far away. Luckily, the lights have been brought up beyond the usual dim and foreboding level Rose prefers. If your shades are off you prefer the dark, but at least now you can see with them on.

You're sitting on the couch, slowly manspreading and creeping closer and closer into John's space for no reason other than to piss him off. It's working. He's sitting on the floor next to Jade, talking animatedly about something you're only half paying attention to. You're pretty sure you've heard Nic Cage's name at least twice. For her part, Jade looks decently interested, at least. Rose left the room about twenty minutes ago to take a call.

This party — in addition to being a routine get-together — doubles as a celebration for the last big milestone you'd reached: One million subscribers. One million whole-ass people watching you enough to consistently tune in. Every video consistently gets over half a mil views and you're actually making money. Which is still wild.

Of course, a large part of the reason you're making money is because Rose has you working your ass off editing, filming, trying on new outfits and learning new dances.

Your foot touches John's shoulder and he glares at you, cutting off in the middle of his sentence. Making direct eye-contact through your shades, you put it in his lap.

"Oh my god, Dave!"

"John."

"One of these days you're going to learn the meaning of personal space!"

"Don't fuck with me, Egbert, I have a million subscribers on youtube. You should feel lucky that I'm all up in your space."

"That's not how that works, Dave."

"Well it is now."

"Says who?!"

"Says me. Idol girl with a million subscribers." You gently push your knee into the side of his face. He pushes you away, rolling his eyes.

"You're only an idol girl when it's convenient."

"Damn straight I am, Egbert. What's the point of leading a super-awesome double-life as a cutesy pop star/idol whatever if I don't get to lord it over my pleb friends?"

John reaches up and hits you in the leg with the back of his hand. You lean over with the intent to collapse onto him. Your quest to land on him doesn't go through, though, and you're shoved off by — by Jade?

"What gives, Harley?" you ask, sitting back up. She ignores you, eyes locked past you.

"Rose, is something wrong?" You and Egbert follow her gaze to a mildly shell-shocked looking Rose Lalonde, holding her phone in one hand. She locks eyes with you behind your sunglasses and you freeze like a deer in headlights.

"Nothing is wrong. In fact, I'd say the exact opposite, actually." She clears her throat, straightening up and patting her skirt flat with one hand. "Dave, how would you feel about doing interviews?"

"What, like for magazines? Those little blurbs in chick magazines?" You raise an eyebrow, slouching back on the couch, all thoughts of bugging Egbert out of your mind.

"No. Like on a set. With an interviewer. While being filmed."

"What?" You shoot to your feet, turning to face her properly. "Like a tv interview? What, are you putting me on the Late Show with Steven Colbert?"

"Close. Would anyone here happen to have heard of the Alternia Darlings?" You get about halfway to sharing a mildly confused look with a very confused John when Jade interjects.

"Oh my god, wait, Jake's obsessed with them! The one bigger group that's actually two smaller groups of six, right?"

"Yes."

"They're huge! This could be your big break, Dave!"

"Whoa, whoa, pump the fucking breaks, Harley." You hold up your hands defensively. "Just because Jake likes them doesn't mean that, like, it's a make or break gig. Jake's got shit taste. Egbert, back me up here." He pauses for too long for your comfort.

"Well, I don't know. Usually I'd agree and say Jake's got bad taste, but that name sounds pretty familiar. Maybe it is that big of a gig?"

"Strider, it's a television interview with the largest idol group on the internet. They got their start exactly as you did — and now they want to bring you on." She walks closer and leans over the couch. "This isn't just a big gig. If you take this chance — which mark my words, you will — your popularity will explode." You lean back, stuffing your hands into your pockets.

"You want to work me to death, Lalonde? Is that what you're doing? You want to put me on a stage and have me fucking improv in front of a bunch of strangers until I die from exhaustion?"

"Of course not," she sighs, clearly exasperated. "If you're really that overworked, I can cut down the filming and rehearsal time. I can even leave you out of things that aren't crucial. We'll get in touch with the Alternia Darlings' PR team and get a list of questions and topics for the interview. I'm not throwing you to the wolves, Dave."

"What if I don't even want to do this interview, huh? What if I'm content with the subscribers I have now?" She raises an eyebrow.

"You're joking."

"What if I'm not."

"You don't seriously want to stop here."

"But what if I do." She crosses her arms.

"But you don't."

"I might."

"You don't."

"I-"

"Dave Strider are you doing the fucking interview or are you going to bicker with me until the world explodes?"

You hold eye contact with her behind your shades for a long moment. She doesn't back down, simply arching her own eyebrow at you.

"Fine." You return to nonchalantly sitting on the couch, arms crossed behind your head. "Send me the interview topics or whatever later. But I get to pick my outfit." You can practically feel her smiling to herself behind you.

"Thank you for cooperating. I'll request that topic list now." She hits your shoulder with one hand. "Now move, I'd like to do something other than work at this party."

John snickers. "Can't believe we're only thirteen and you all are talking about work like you have actual jobs."

"Hey, looking that cute is an actual job, Egbert. Mind your manners." You make a condescending clicking noise with your tongue.

"Also, isn't it October? We won't be thirteen for much longer."

You and Rose fall silent, staring at Jade. John picks up the slack, making a comment about how time flies or some inane bullshit you're too busy reeling to pick up.

You're almost fourteen. You're well on your way to a late start to puberty, and you're spending your time dressing up as an idol for views, learning cutesy songs and choreo when you should be learning how to shave or some shit. Instead of doing whatever the fuck it is teenage boys do, you're wasting your life pretending to be a girl.

The idea doesn't fuck you up as much as it should, and that in and of itself fucks you up.

A week later, you find yourself in the most terrifying place you've ever set foot in — a professional recording studio. The lights are too bright, there's a flurry of activity, and you're in a skirt that barely comes down to your knees. Which, totally your fault, you were the one to dress yourself and all. It's just not a situation you thought you'd be in. Like ever. You fiddle with your armband and Rose slaps your hand.

"No fidgeting. We're here on business."

"I know we're here on business, chill the fuck out."

"You're the one who needs to chill."

You open your mouth to give the sassiest, best retort of all time when you're interrupted by a gaggle of girls coming up to you. They're all dressed in cutesy outfits not too unlike your own, but unlike your knight theming being mostly conveyed through your excessive use of chain jewelry, their themes are loud and clear. Each one of them has some sort of animal/creature motif going on.

One of the girls steps forward, a girl in a fuschia dress not unlike yours and draped in a shit ton of gauzy shawls. There's a delicate crown on her head and she's covered in golden and pearl jewelry. Some of the golden chains around her waist clink against each other, glittering in a way that reminds you faintly of a mermaid's tail.

"Hello! You must be Dame and Rose!"

"It's uh," you hesitate, trying to slip into your performance voice as naturally as possible. "It's Dawn, actually. Dame is the title for a girl knight. Like Sir but for girls." The girl nods.

"I sea, I sea. Well, welcome in, Dawn! This is — in no particular order — Aradia, Nepeta, Kanaya, Terezi, Vriska, and me, Feferi!" She smiles cheerily and points to each girl in turn, doing a cute pose when she points at herself.

Just from glancing over them, you can see a pretty obvious order. While there's not every color of the rainbow, every girl is dressed in a different one, with Aradia being red and Feferi being a fuschia pink-purple. Every girl in between the two of them follows a pretty clear rainbow order. Red, green, other green, teal, blue, fuschia.

"Nice to meet you all. I know you know who I am but I'm Dawn and this is my stage manager, Rose Lalonde."

"It's nice to meet you all. I hope to get to know you better in the future." She smiles in a way that's probably meant to be friendly but just reads as vaguely wolfish.

"Likewise!" She smiles widely and bounces on the toes of her feet. "Now, Dawn, Kanaya was going to take you by makeup and then we can talk set-up! Because it's your first time doing an interview, we won't be doing it in front of a studio audience but I know Terezi and Karkat wanted to bring you onto their show at some point which is filmed live."

"So this is like a test run to get me used to it?" you ask, attempting to pretend you're not starting to get nervous at the thought of being on a second show.

"You could say that!"

"You don't have to do a second one if you're overwhelmed," she mutters to you under her breath. You shoot her a brief look and pull yourself up to your full height.

"Well, if it's interview practice, then I can only hope I pass with flying colors." Despite the canned tone of your line — well, at least it reads canned to you, performer of everywhere all the time — the girls lined up across from you all seem satisfied, reacting in various ways spanning from an amused snort (girl in teal with a cane held in claw-rings, which is sick as fuck) to an enthusiatic ooh (girl in dark green with cat ears and a tail you're pretty certain is partially robotic from how it moves).

"Well, we're happy to have you aboard!" She chuckles at herself and then turns around. "Kanaya!" A girl in a corset dress and draping jewel-toned green fabrics steps forward, smiling.

"Hello Dawn, Rose." She curtsies — actually curtsies, lifting the edges of her skirts and everything — and turns a sharp grin on you. It's at this point you notice she's wearing a pair of vampire fangs. "It's lovely to properly meet you. I've been looking forward to it, actually."

"Really?"

"Kanaya, right?" Rose sticks out her hand and Kanaya takes it. "I was the one speaking with you on the phone. It's nice to finally put a face to the voice." Kanaya raises Rose's hand to her mouth, pressing a chaste kiss to the back of it. And you thought you were supposed to have the knight shtick.

"Likewise. I hadn't realized the stage manager of such an up-and-coming idol could practically be one herself."

"You flatter me. I hardly have the personality to be an idol."

"Oh, you'd be surprised. An elegant demeanor and a put-together theme goes a long way. Not to mention a pretty smile."

You're about fifty percent certain this vampire-idol girl is flirting with your half sister.

"Hey, are you two gonna flirt or are you gonna put princess there in makeup?"

"Who're you calling princess," you retort, squinting at her.

"Uh, you, the girl in the poofy skirt, duh."

"We don't have the budget for chainmail yet so I'm working with what I have. Besides, you think you have a leg to stand on? You look more like a pirate than what you're supposed to. Which is what, a spider?"

"Yeah, I am a spider. Got a problem with that?"

"Just saying." You shrug. "Big talk for a spider who looks more like a pirate."

"Girls, girls!" she places herself between the two of you. "We can bicker after filming! Or, preferably, not at all!"

You shrug again, the chains hanging from your shoulders clinking against each other. She mutters something under her breath to the girl next to her, who hits her in the side.

"My apologies if I was too over-the-top," Kanaya chuckles, dropping Rose's hand. "We should be making our way further in, then. The makeup department waits for no one."

"Uh, we did my makeup before we came," you tell her, running a hand through your hair. She clicks her tongue.

"Nonsense. The sort of makeup that looks good in a music video will look horrendous under the floodlights we use to film."

You go to respond when, suddenly, she grabs your arm and starts dragging you inside. You barely have time to yelp in alarm before you're dragged into a side hallway and pushed in front of a gaggle of strangers holding makeup brushes and hair ribbons.

"This," she gestures at you, "is our newest guest. Make sure she looks stunning for the camera."

And then you're left to face the makeup department.