The halls are empty and heavy with anticipatory silence. There is only about an hour left in the school day, and the bored, restless energy shivers through the quiet in indiscernible whispers from behind closed classroom doors.
None of them know where they are going, but Vriska is leading the way, hunched and purposeful, Gamzee’s head against her shoulder, an arm around each horn like a yoke.
There is something incredibly reassuring, Tavros thinks, about someone who has absolute outward confidence in themselves. The soothing lull of following a simple direction is so overpowering it blots out the logical part of him that knows this is, perhaps, the most outlandishly stupid succession of decisions he has ever made. It also leaves a comforting buffer of reality between himself and Gamzee’s ugly pointy elf feet resting on his shoulder. But shucks, who knows, maybe there IS an incinerator. He’s homeschooled, so what does he know? And if anyone could be lucky enough to stumble upon one, it might as well be this Vriska.
Tavros is considering this when he hears something. It sounds like the creak of an underfunded public school door, but it could also have been a honk, or the beating of his own heart. He stops in his tracks.
Vriska and Vrissy do not.