2Chapter two! I wrote most of this last night, added a little today, and here we are. Thank you all for your support! I'm ecstatic to see that people are into this.
Notes:
1. This chapter is mostly world-building. They won't all be as text-heavy as this one. Also, I said this in the previous chapter but I am reiterating it here once again: This will mostly (if not entirely) be told from Kurda's POV. So you'll see all the other characters from his perspective. His thoughts and opinions will not always reflect my own.
2. I decided to name their school Shaughnessy U after Author Man Shan's real name. The football team is called the Wolves, as a tribute to the canonical significance of wolves to the vampire clan.
3. At this point in the story Kurda comes off as uncharacteristically snarky or rude at times - I'm doing that on purpose. Roll with it.
Enjoy!
Gannen was right. It turned out to be a social experiment of a lifetime. The type of thing Kurda would've watch with utter fascination if only he could be an outside spectator rather than a reluctant participant.
Junior year was in full swing and at this point, Kurda's most effective coping mechanism was imagining a nature documentary play out in his head as he went about his daily life.
It was 10:30pm by the time he was pulling into the driveway of the house he now shared with three of Shaughnessy U's golden football sons. One of them being his best friend's feral brother. Admittedly, Vancha was a pretty chill guy and Kurda didn't exactly dislike him. But with that said, he was literally the last person on earth Kurda would've chosen as a housemate.
Kurda cringed internally as he surveyed the driveway and his mental commentary kicked in out of instinct.
Here, we see evidence that a herd of douchebags must be in the vicinity.
The driveway was occupied largely by a black Escalade, parked on an obnoxious angle (Gannen hadn't been exaggerating) and sporting custom plates reading "MVL" - as if anyone in this hellhole of a town wasn't already aware it belonged to the not so elusive creature known as Mika Ver Leth.
Mika had been considerate enough to leave just enough room for his even less elusive heterosexual boyfriend Arrow's big loud stupid jacked-up yee-yee red Ram truck. Might as well slap on a bumper sticker that says "I have a microscopic penis". At least that was Kurda's theory - he didn't plan on seeking visual confirmation.
Vancha March, possibly the least elusive creature on the planet, was parked on the front lawn - as close to off-roading as his purple Jeep Wrangler was going to get in the suburbs. And as if the colour wasn't distinctive enough, the "420" sticker on the back window sure was.
On the day Kurda initially moved in, he saw the vehicles before he encountered their owners. Turns out you absolutely can judge a book by its cover with exceptional accuracy. That was the first thing Kurda learned, five minutes into the social experiment.
And that was just the first of many things he'd learned in the very short amount of time he'd been co-existing with some of Shaughnessy U's finest. When he wasn't imaging a nature documentary playing out in his head, he thought about writing a memoir about his journey. He already had a novel's worth of material and it wasn't even Homecoming weekend yet.
Have you ever wondered how to be a football player? Completely against his will, Kurda's been cursed with that knowledge. So here's everything you need to know:
1- Time has no meaning. Want to sleep til 2pm on a Monday? You do you. Want to test the muffler (or lack thereof) in your stupid yee-yee truck before dawn on a Sunday? Why not! Want to start drinking at 9am any day? Live your dream! Want a Popeye's chicken sandwich at midnight? Why the fuck else does UberEats exist? Walk into class 20 minutes late with Starbucks? It's okay, honey! Because you're on the football team! See also: there's no correct time to show up to a party, unless it's before 10pm because that'd make you a fucking weirdo.
2- Housework is for mere mortals, not varsity gods. If you leave a mess for long enough, someone will inevitably get sick of looking at it and clean it up for you.
Exhibit A: dishes in the sink.
Exhibit B: the mud you tracked all over the floor after drunkenly stumbling home from a house party and taking a shortcut through the yard.
Exhibit C: the empty beer bottles that surely must be having sex and multiplying when no one's around because no human should be able to consume that much. And in this case, someone is always Kurda. Footnote: at no point has Kurda ever been asked or expected to do any of this. It's not that he wants to play the martyr. But on the bright side, after the first week of classes he loaded his car up with their empties, returned them to the store, and left with enough cash for a full tank of gas. Kurda expected his housemates to be angry and was prepared to defend his actions. But not a single one of them even noticed when an entire careful of bottles and cans simply disappeared. Kurda has now been doing this on a weekly basis and he hasn't paid for gas out of his own pocket since Labour Day Weekend.
3- Have fun at all times. Constantly. Any waking second not spent having a fucking blast and a half is a wasted opportunity that you'll never get back and it'll haunt you til your dying day. Fortunately, there are about a thousand ways to remedy this. Surf down your staircase in a mattress. Steal some grocery carts and host your own Kentucky Derby. The question isn't why - the question is why not? Don't let your mandatory academic endeavours slow you down. You're a football star. You will never have less than three friends within five feet of you any any point in time so you simply make your own amusement. A few of your profs will hate you, of course. Some of them will hop on the bandwagon and bow at your feet like the rest of your classmates. But most of them will just ignore you until you go away. Don't forget, you're a football star. This means you're naturally imbued with privileges mere mortals only dream of. If you're a Shaughnessy U Wolf, your social status is forever carved in stone. You're who every man wants to be and every woman (and most assuredly, plenty of men) wants to be with. And you can have your pick of all of them. Not only are you welcome at all the best parties, your presence is coveted. Your peers exist to validate you - and if they're lucky, you might just breathe their oxygen and let them bask in your glow for a moment or two before moving on.
4- Yes, there's a catch. But only two:
1) You have to maintain a 2.3 GPA in order to maintain your position.C's get degrees - learn it. Understand it. Internalize it. If all else fails, just recruit the nearest nerd to ghostwrite your next paper for you. Remember, you're not here to learn. You're here to tackle people in the fucking grass every Friday night.
2) Don't do anything wildly illegal. Or if you do, don't let anyone take a fucking video of it.
Case study: Perta Vin-Grahl and the fabled CokeGate. (The rumour is only half-true. Mika Ver Leth did not leak the video to usurp Perta's position. But the hood of the car that appears in the video is indeed his Escalade).
5- If you've been blessed with that elusive ShaughnU jersey, football is your religion. Coach Baker Wrent is God. You need not answer to the laws of time, physics, or science in your daily life, but you damn well answer to Coach Wrent lest he cast you out of his impeccably tended Athletes-Only Garden of Eden. (Again, refer to CokeGate). Your fellow Wolves are your brothers-in-arms throughout your crusade for the Holy Grail - or in your case, a Championship Ring. Worship sessions are held every Saturday night in that majestic stadium, the crown jewel of the campus. Communion wine is Gatorade. Until you get to the afterparty, then we switch to White Claw or Bud Light. By the way, daily practice is your Bible study. Could be 6am, could be 9pm. Doesn't matter. You never skip Bible study. And last but not least, don't forget to pray - you do that at the gym. At least five times a week.
Footnote: Gannen once made a point that partying is the religion formally observed by Kurda's housemates. And he wasn't wrong - the act of partying is simply a way to express devotion to your religion. Like Christmas, Easter, or Hanukkah - but every fucking weekend because you're just that devoted.
That's it. That's what Kurda's living with, times three. Sometimes more, depending on which friends they're hosting. And more often than not, it's a whole fucking lot of them.
Kurda could hear the music thumping from the house the second he turned his car off. The soothing melody of the latest Hozier album emanating from his speakers was instantly replaced by the unmistakable ritual chant of "WAP". Because every religion has their hymns, right?
Did I mention it's fucking Wednesday? Or that Kurda has a midterm tomorrow? At eight in the morning? Or that he just worked a six-hour shift at the café? Where he had to deal with no less than three screaming Karens? While being short-staffed?
He locked his car and headed inside - bless that loyal, sweet silver Accord that he'd inherited from his favourite aunt just before freshman year. It didn't look like much next to the lineup in his driveway, but it was his. And that was good enough. He wasn't exactly here to fit in - that had never been his thing.
Kurda paused and took one deep, steadying breath before turning the handle and marching straight into the belly of the beast.
He was instantly greeted by a rousing chorus of "KURDA FUCKIN' SMAHLT!" courtesy of Vancha March, who was situated in his favourite grubby old armchair - craft beer in one hand, Nintendo control in the other, and a joint tucked behind his ear. Vancha looked like he was three quarters in the bag already when he saluted Kurda with a lazy wave of his hand.
Let's review the roster:
Vancha March: Center field. Aesthetic: punk rock but make it football. Green hair (started as a freshman dare, but then he liked it so here we are). Purple jeep. Abysmal hygiene. Major: undeclared. Could be philosophy. Could be weed. Who knows? Not him.
More interestingly, Vancha is also the estranged twin brother of Kurda's first-year roommate and best friend, Gannen Harst. "Estranged" is figurative, seeing as the March-Harst twins attend the same university and only live two blocks away from each other. In reality, they see each other all the damn time. They just aren't happy about it. At least, Gannen isn't. Vancha tries, though - why else would he take in Gannen's soon-to-be-homeless bestie despite the fact that Kurda didn't have a single solitary shred of anything in common with Vancha or his friends?
"Gentlemen." Kurda politely addressed the room at large, glancing warily at them before darting past the living room and into the kitchen.
His trio of housemates, or the Royal Pains as Kurda unaffectionately deemed them were currently honing their reflexes by playing Mario Kart 8 on someone's Switch. Vancha in the armchair, and Mika and Arrow holding down both ends of the scruffy leather couch.
"Sup, Nerda?" Arrow greeted him without looking up from the tv.
Kurda tried really hard not to be offended by "Nerda". Shitty nicknames were simply how these Neanderthals operated - they called each other much worse. Because that's what happens when toxic masculinity meets genuine affection - just another footnote in what would someday be Kurda's memoir. The thing is, Kurda wasn't exactly friends with any of them. He'd never once expressed interest in joining the nickname game. Then again, he knew he'd gotten off easy with Nerda so he let it slide.
Sort of.
"Living the dream as per usual, Aaron." Kurda retorted swiftly. Arrow glared - he really didn't like to be reminded of the fact that he actually had a painfully un-badass first name. But he was also incapable of focusing on more than one thing at once. Sometimes just one thing was a struggle for him. On this occasion Arrow elected to keep his mind on the game rather than retaliate at Kurda's insolence.
Arrow: Offensive tackle. Criminal justice major. Tattoo aficionado. Balding in college and owning it. Thinks flannel shirts are fancy. Thinks country music is good. And Gannen was right about the Tinder fish thing. Kurda was present to overhear the fifteen minute think-tank session in which Mika and Vancha earnestly helped Arrow select the best fish pics from his camera roll as he freshened up his profile in the first week of class. You know what they say: new year, new fish.
Now, Arrow wasn't inherently horrible (as long as you're not a largemouth bass) but he also wasn't the genre of person Kurda would ever intentionally associate with. He was loyal as a golden retriever, dumber than a box of rocks and had the personality of one too. Arrow was usually pretty well-intentioned, though. He even brought a slice of pizza home for Kurda from a house party last weekend. He forgot to put it in the fridge, of course, so it was disgusting by the time Kurda found it the next morning. But the thought counts. I guess.
"Hah. Aaron." Mika smirked under his breath from the other end of the couch, earning a heated scowl from Arrow. Arrow tried to run Mika's kart off the Rainbow Road, but succeeded only in taking a dive himself. Arrow growled in frustration, and Mika indulged in a hearty laugh at his friend's expense.
Mika Ver Leth: Quarterback. Double major in business and political science. Wants to be either a big-time lawyer or the President when he grows up. Stunningly attractive but tragically self-aware about it. The utter poster-child for the Daddy's Money Douchebags that inevitably infect every campus on the planet. Openly bisexual but nobody hassles him about it. (Which is less to do with the football team being progressive, and more to do with the fact that they're all afraid of him).
Intellect-wise, Mika was smarter than Arrow and Vancha combined. Mika seemed to fill the role of the "Dad Friend" where the Royal Pains were concerned. Which wasn't to say he was nurturing in any way, shape, or form - he partied just as hard as Vancha and Arrow. Maybe "Functional Uncle" would be a more apt description. Mika simply had his shit together more than the other two. He rarely skipped class, he collected everyone's rent each month, and he did the house grocery shopping online. He's the only reason there's anything in the fridge besides beer and barbecue sauce.
Well, there's also Kurda's shelf of items clearly labelled "Kurda's Stuff - Do Not Touch". (And occasionally, they even heeded those instructions). The Royal Pains split groceries and grocery bills among each other - and they'd initially expressed that Kurda was more than welcome to get in on it but the answer was a resounding fuck no. So as per usual, Kurda did his own thing. That was how he liked it.
Kurda carried on to the kitchen, intending to throw together some ramen before retiring to bed, where he'd curl up with his sociology textbook and study for a few hours before setting his alarm for 6:30am and drifting off.
He was just about to boil the water when he heard Vancha's voice overriding Cardi B like a god damned foghorn:
"What you up to tonight, Kurda?"
He knew Vancha was being polite. But it has been an exhausting day, Kurda was stressed to the max and his feet and head ached.
"It's 10:30 on a Wednesday. I just worked a six hour shift. I'm making supper, I'm studying, and I'm going to bed." He informed Vancha, speaking as loud as he could to be heard over the music without actually yelling.
"Do you wanna play the next race?" Vancha called, as if he hadn't absorbed a single word Kurda just said. "We have four controllers! Grab a beer and come on in! Or I can roll you a joint!" He added.
It wasn't that Kurda didn't appreciate Vancha's unrequited acceptance of him. Some small part of him did. But most of him wanted nothing to do with any of this, a fact that was wildly exacerbated by his current stress and exhaustion.
"No, Vancha." He snapped. "I don't want to get lit playing fucking Mario Kart on a Wednesday night. I want to study for my midterm and go the hell to bed."
"Okay! No worries. Maybe tomorrow?" Vancha replied.
"Sounds great!" Kurda called from the kitchen. He laced those two syllables with as much sarcastic faux-enthusiasm as he could muster. But Vancha wasn't in the room to see Kurda's eyes roll to the back of his head so clearly he took the blond misfit at his word. Vancha was just one of those people who looks for the light in everyone around him.
What a moron.
"Awesome! Goodnight! And good luck on your midterm!" Was Vancha's earnestly pleasant response.
Kurda ignored him. Then he took his ramen and at long last he retreated to his bedroom.
There we have it - this is Kurda's life now. Next chapter will introduce some more characters!
Thanks for reading!
- Roxy