It was a predicament.
The dorm room wasn’t large, by any means, and the four blank white walls seemed to close in on you the longer you remained within their boundaries. But you figured that was to be expected, it was the oldest residence hall on campus. And thankfully, the cheapest. The bathroom was simply archaic, with peeling tiles and a musty odor you’d attributed to a suspicious looking patch of green in a particularly dark corner of the room. The hallways weren’t well lit, and the beds squeaked with the slightest movements. Your mother had taken one look at the place, dumped your stuff on the floor, and left. Not sentimental, that one. You’d unpacked, sighed, and flopped on your bed. Long day.
But no, no. These were the least of your concerns. Because your name is Roxy Lalonde, and someone carrying just unlocked the door and walked in. You’ve been curled up on your thick black comforter, listening to music on a set of kickass speakers. And then the door swung open, and you prop yourself up with a smile, only to have it evacuate your face very, very quickly.
A boy, carrying a giant cardboard box.
“How’d ya get in?” you ask, a little confused. This must be your roommate’s brother. Or boyfriend? He holds up a key, jangling it. His expression is a little sour. Sharp features, skin tone somewhere between pale and tan, light brown hair with a weird streak of purple for bangs. Glasses. Maybe he’s a hipster? He’s tall, carries himself in a way that makes you think of a leaf curling in on itself. He’s having no problems with what is clearly a heavy box, so you guess he’s pretty fit. Reminds you of Draco Malfoy.
Except for the obvious attitude problem, you think your roommate might not have bad taste. Figuring he’ll probably be around from time to time, you decide to introduce yourself.
“I’m Roxy, Roxy Lalonde,” you inform him. He nods once, stowing the box under the other bed. Starts walking towards the door again. “You gonna gimme your name?”
He stops, not even turning his head to address you. “Are you gonna bother me if I don’t?” Your hopes for a roommate with good taste are starting to fade away.
“Probs,” you say with a dismissive shrug.
“Nice to meet ya, Eridan.”
He’s already out the door, which closes with an echoing thump.
“Douche,” you whisper at your ceiling.
Deciding it wouldn’t be too nice to force him to listen to your music–you have what some would call “strange taste”–you slip in headphones and opt for a little reading. Eridan’s in and out of the room for the next half an hour, setting things up for your roommate, who has yet to make an appearance. It doesn’t bother you, because it’s becoming more and more apparent that if your roommate is anything like Eridan, you won’t like her much. He curses when he drops things, and he’s doing a very shitty job of unpacking. Sigh. Hopefully he doesn’t come around much. He hasn’t made a good first impression.
You doze off somewhere in the middle of a soft tune, and wake up around five with a growling stomach. The sun is still in the sky and Eridan’s sitting in your roommate’s desk chair, reading. You wonder if she came in while you were gone, and groan, sitting up. Probably missed her.
“Where is she?” you ask him.
Eridan looks up at you.
He responds with a very confused look.
“Don’t havve a girlfriend.”
“Alright, where’s your sister then?”
You’re giving him a very perplexed look back.
“Don’t got a sister, either.”
No sister? And no girlfriend? Who gave him the key to your room?
“What?! Wtf are you doin’ in my room then?!”
“Your room. Your room? Listen, this is my room, Lalonde. I assumed you wwere just wwaitin’ on your guy.”
“No, no, it’s my room. Did they give you the wrong key?” You’re pulling out the folder with your registry information on it. Particularly:
You hand it to him.
“This can’t be right,” he tells you.
He holds out his paper.
“Does that mean we’re.”
“Roommates? No. No fuckin’ wway. Because you’re gonna get the hell outta my room. Ain’t dormin’ wwith no blonde-haired broad.”
“Who says you get to keep the room? I was here first!”
“Yeah wwell I got the A behind my 102 so tough shit, Lalonde.”
You’re already on your way out of the room, with the two papers and your key in hand.
“Wwhere the fuck do ya think you’re goin’?”
“Hall coordinator. He’ll be able to fix this.”
You hear some shuffling and a squeak, and he’s off his bed and following.
“Wwell you’re not gonna like wwhat ya hear, room’s mine, you’re just gonna have to move all your shit out. An’ I’m not helpin’, so don’t get your hopes up.”
“Stfu.” What an infuriating dude. You start knocking on the door. A sign tells you that the coordinator’s name is Mr. Slick. Stupid name.
“Come in.” The voice on the other side of the door is scratchy and deep. A smoker? You and Eridan comply, jostling each other on the way in the darkened room for the only available chair. He wins. You settle for glaring at him from a corner of the room. “What d’ya want.”
The man on the otherside of the desk is facing away from you with feet propped up on a bookshelf. He wears all black. Mr. Slick makes no move to turn around.
“Wwell, sir, wwe’re here because wwe got put inna room together. That’s gonna be a problem, on account a the fact that I’m a guy and she ain’t.”
“Well isn’t that an issue that don’t seem to concern me none.”
Eridan looks taken aback. What is wrong with Slick? Girls and boys aren’t supposed to room together.
“Ain’t that against some kinda policy?”
“I’m well aware of the situation, Ampora. Nothin’ we can do about it. I don’t wanna do no goddamn paperwork, and you’re gonna have to suck it up and deal with it. There aren’t anymore rooms in the entire campus. So the university’s takin’ 1000 big ones offa each a your tuitions for you to put up with it. Your payin’ parties both agreed to the situation, so it’s already been settled. All the normal dorm policies apply, no messin’ around with each other, none of that shit. You’re adults, now fuckin’ act like it.”
What?! You’re about to open your mouth to protest, but Eridan beats you to it.
“But, sir, you can’t really expect me to put up with this, this-“ he looks at you. “This complete idiot for-“
Slick cuts him off.
“Quit bitchin’ and get the fuck outta my office.” His tone is final.
You both exit, and Eridan pulls the door shut behind you.
“Stay the fuck outta my side a the room,” he snaps. “This is such complete an’ utter bullshit.”
“Why would I wanna go on your side of the room anyways? To spend quality time with you?” you snarl back. You’ve completely lost your appetite by the time you reach the dining hall. The two of you part ways, and five minutes later, you find yourself sitting alone at a table, picking at a plate of cafeteria chicken.
Your name is Roxy Lalonde, and this is quite a predicament.