Chapter Text
The only way to stay afloat in life is to make sure you’re getting slightly less screwed than the poor bastard beside you. Ancap has known this for a very long time, and it has served her especially well in college so far. She managed to weasel and bribe her way into the biggest bedroom when her roommates were divvying them up, she’s managed to stay in control of her classes for the most part (she’s paying some grad student to do her papers for her Applied Ethics class, mostly because she doesn’t give a fuck, but that’s it), and best of all? She’s got a dependant.
Okay, that makes it sound like she’s got kids, which, like, ew. She swears she’s getting her tubes tied the second her mom stops being such a freak about the idea. Ancap’s mother couldn’t even raise her only child without a rotating line of maids and a constant flow of SSRIs, so why she’s all fussy about wanting grandkids is a mystery. Anyways, by ‘dependent’, she mostly means the little junkie-in-training who comes to her for their drugs. Of course, she deals to a lot of people- this is university! Most of these douchebags are also rich, but not nearly as business savvy as she is! Who doesn’t want some questionably sourced pills and powders? Ancap has long since lost count of the tens of faces who come to her with varying levels of subtlety about purchasing everything from Adderall to molly to xans. They’re not her biggest buyers. No, that honour goes to Ancom.
Meth is relatively cheap, yeah, but this kid buys a lot of it (‘kid’, really? They’re a sophomore just like you). Ancom is a tiny little weirdo with scruffy pigtails and a tanned complexion that keeps their race a mystery, though there’s a small betting pool amongst Ancap and her housemates as to what exactly they are- Ancap says South European, Minarchist says Métis, Libertarian says Mexican, and Hoppean says many, many slurs. It’s not really important in the end- what matters is that they’re always sliding up to Ancap in their platform creepers and knockoff Dolls Kill getups to ask for a re-up. Considering they’re the only person on campus who actually buys crystal, Ancap’s basically always got them covered. It’s a great deal.
Well, usually. Ancap knows a lot about them, mainly because even while stone-cold sober they’re really prone to oversharing. For one, they’re an anarchist like she is, which would be fucking based if not for the whole ‘communism’ part of their particular spin on it. They’re majoring in Commercial Music, but they don’t really seem invested in it. Among other roommates in their much-shitter house at the end of the street from the place Ancap is renting, they live with Commie, that tall redhead Ancap sits next to in Psychology who has an inexplicable Russian accent despite apparently having been born and raised in Bracebridge of all places. That particular weirdo definitely made an impression on day one when Ancap realized her thermos was not full of coffee, but in fact rum and coke. Which, again, was during their eight AM Psychology class. That was the same day she got in trouble for calling the professor a ‘bourgeois idealist’, actually, which was almost definitely related to the contents of her thermos.
Back to Ancom- the most important thing about them isn’t their politics, their major, or their peculiar housemate. No, at least in Ancap’s eyes, it was that they were poor as hell. Though they worked a gig job for some food delivery app now, their family had basically no money- Ancom was flying by the seat of their pants.
Normally this would pose quite the problem. See, meth wasn’t all that pricey by the standards of other drugs- for someone with Ancom’s using habits and tolerance, they would generally be spending around a hundred and ten bucks a week. Not bad considering heroin users could spend that much that every single day. But again, full-time student who just works for Skip or Uber or whoever while trying to pay rent and feed themself. Add that to about thirty bucks worth of weed weekly and the occasional antipsychotics they’d buy if they had to bring themself down quick, and that’s kind of a big investment.
Fortunately, though, there was a solution to this tricky conundrum, one Ancap was currently enjoying in the backseat of her car way off at the edge of the parking lot.
Her mind wanders often, but Ancap is at least courteous enough to be in the present moment when she cums, well-manicured hands grabbing the back of Ancom’s head and all but grinding their face against her cunt as she breaks into shudders and gasps. For their part, Ancom rides the whole wave out very well considering they’d just spent most of the last fifteen minutes eating their dealer out like she was their last meal on death row. Ancap is a little shocked they can even breathe after that.
As the elation of her orgasm finally trickles to a close, Ancap lets out a breath of air she wasn’t aware she was holding in, releasing Ancom’s face as her back hits the leather seat of her Bentley. The left anarchist, meanwhile, yawns rather loudly from where they’ve been kneeling rather unceremoniously in the foot space between the back and front seats. Reaching up to rub their jaw, green eyes flicker up, eyeing the capitalist somewhat coyly. “That enough to send you to class in a good mood?”
“Very much so.” Though probably a bit more tired than she’d have hoped. Alas, that was the price to pay for getting oral before her Latin American Studies class (and no, she would not be answering why that topic was of high importance to her as a business major). “There’s a little time before noon. Can you do me a favour and not smoke this before class? It’s always a little obvious, and the professor’s gonna start getting suspicious of you, and in turn, of me.”
While speaking, Ancap is fishing a small baggie out of her blazer pocket and tossing it down. Ancom catches the quarter gram of crystal easily, smiling as her brain apparently decides this trailer-park meth was of suitable quality before stuffing it in her own hoodie’s pocket. “Alright, I won’t. This one’s sooooo boring, though.”
“Then why are you taking it?”
“Beats me. I was high while registering my courses.”
Yeah, that tracks. Sighing, Ancap reaches down to pull her panties back up (hopefully all that slick would be well contained, considering the fabric of the miniskirt she’s now adjusting over her hips isn’t very thin or absorbent) before reaching for the door. “At least you’re showing up for once. Want to walk with me?”
“Thanks for the offer, but I’m good.” Following Ancap out of the car, the smaller woman throws her hands into the air and stretches them out. “I promised I’d meet Commie over in the Science building before class. I accidentally grabbed her lunch from the fridge instead of my own this morning, so we’re trading off.”
“What does someone her height even eat? All the stuff the hunter douchebag was singing about in that one Beauty And The Beast song?”
“You’d think, right? The actual answer is: not very much.” Ancom jingles their messenger bag around a bit for emphasis. “She said she likes to save her alcohol money by having dinner as her only meal most days, so I’ve literally just got a granola bar and a Monster in here.”
Shockingly economical, and more than a little sad. “Alright, you go drop it off and I’ll meet you in class. Shall I save you a seat?”
“Definitely!” Ancom nods enthusiastically, clutching their bag and hurrying off in the direction of the science hall on the other side of the parking lot. They barely avoid getting hit by a few cars they carelessly run into the paths of, but hey: if the meth isn’t gonna kill them, Ancap figures some measly cars definitely can’t. Maybe she’ll introduce Frogger as a new nickname when they meet up with her in class.
(That idea is scrapped, as Ancom doesn’t make it to LatAm studies that day. They’ll text Ancap later and apologize, saying temptation got the better of them and smoked the quarter gram out in the wooded area, so then they decided not to go to class. Ancap will playfully mock them, as she always does. She will pretend that the near-daily sight of the unoccupied seat next to hers doesn’t produce a bizarre twinge in her chest.)
Ancom’s house was kind of packed in tight, but they actually really liked living there for the most part. There were almost twice as many people living there as there were bedrooms, but considering their landlord basically just pretended not to see the obvious signs of drug use on the rare occasions he stopped by, Ancom was willing to deal with a roommate and some cramped conditions in exchange for no cops getting called. ‘Sides, ever since she’d started dating that fashy bleach blonde from Media Studies 101, Anfash was basically never at home, so it was like Ancom had a room all to themself most of the time.
Unlike the rest of their street, almost half of the house didn’t consist of students. Everyone ranged from late teens to mid-twenties, but five out of the eleven tenants were ordinary working adults. For whatever reason, they’d lost access to their previous housing, and they’d wound up taking a yearly contract with a bunch of university kids to avoid homelessness. Well, Ancom says whatever reason, but pretty much all of them are on something. That’s probably why their housing situation had fallen through.
Living there was helped by almost everyone partying, though. Sure, there was the odd duck out in people like Maoist, but if she was ever disturbed by the incredible amount of booze and drugs passing through the house, she very politely kept quiet about it. Sometimes Ancom could hear her talking to Commie from their room next door, hushed tones full of what if we wake up one morning and someone’s dead or even you stumble in wasted five nights a week, but for the most part, she just smiled through pursed lips as her roommates did lines off the table and offered bowls of congee in the morning after to, quote, ‘try and get you all feeling like human beings again’.
Aside from Maoist, Juche was pretty introverted and didn’t really party with the rest of them (although she did smoke a frankly remarkable amount of weed), and Anpac mostly just clung to Leftcom’s side while nursing one cooler for the whole evening, but everyone else was basically down two or three nights every week.
Speaking of partying, the fuck was going on?
Pulling themself back down from the cloudy dreamspace they’d been hovering in, Ancom finally comes to more or less fully. Where were they? Their eyes drift up from the floor they were splayed out on, up past a bed with a few people curled up on it, up to the flag over it. Oh, this was Anfem’s room. What were they doing here? And, as the cold hardwood on over their skin finally processed, where was their shirt? Great questions that would probably never be answered, like so many others over the year-and-a-bit since they started using.
Ugh. They were gonna puke.
After a few false starts, Ancom finally gets to their feet, stepping over a guy who definitely did not live here to get past the door. Ok, ok, which bathroom was closest? Probably the shitty one near the living room with the bug problem. Ancom considers running upstairs to the one by their room, but their stomach lurches violently enough that they nearly lurch over. They’re absolutely not making it upstairs- spider bathroom it is. Stumbling down the hall, they swing the door open only to find someone had a very similar idea.
Anqueer is kneeling over the toilet, sounding like she’s hacking up a lung or something. She must have heard the door, as she shakes her head over the bowl. Ancom groans, leaning on the doorframe. “Move.”
“Can’t.”
“Gonna be sick.”
Shaking their head again, Anqueer raises her arm, umber-coloured skin standing out against the bone white shower curtain she’s pointing towards. “There.”
“No fucking way.”
“Can’t move.”
Once again, Ancom considers trying to make it upstairs (at least to the kitchen garbage), but then their stomach flips one final time, and they’re pushing their pride down and yanking the shower curtain away with enough force that one of the plastic rings pops off. Finally emptying the contents of her stomach into the bathtub, the two housemates spend the next five minutes alternating between vomiting and coughing uncontrollably, the effects of last night coming down hard.
Finally, Anqueer lifts her head up, moving to lean against the sink cabinet. Her box braids hadn’t fared well with nobody to hold them back, bits of sick peppering the cheap pink dye of her hair. She catches her breath enough to manage a smile by the time Ancom turns around. “One hell of a party, huh?”
“I literally don’t remember any of it.”
“That‘s how you know it was good.”
They’re inclined to agree, but another wave of sickness catches Ancom off guard. Fuck, their stomach wasn’t done with them yet. Pulling their head back over the tub, they finish emptying their stomach of what is hopefully the last bit of puke while Anqueer crawls over to rub their back. “Just get it all out. Let’s take an easy day today.”
“I can’t.” Ancom goes to rub their mouth on their sleeve before realizing they’re still missing their shirt. Finding themselves out of shits to give about hygiene, they just wipe their lips on the shower curtain. “I have something today. No idea what, though.”
“So you got something to do, but you can’t remember what it is.” As Ancom leans back, Anqueer gets to her feet, turning on the shower before sitting back down. Hopefully that will be enough to wash the puke out of the shower. “Are you gonna do some deliveries today?”
The smaller girl shrugs, going to adjust their pigtails. Looks like they survived the night, although they’re sure their hair isn’t in great condition despite that. “Probably- rent’s coming up. That’s not it, though.”
“Something with Ancap?”
Ah, that was it. Ancom nods, closing their eyes for a minute and enjoying the feeling of heat rising in the bathroom before remembering their hot water was limited and that maybe they should switch the shower to cold. Either way, they’re too sluggish to get up, so warm it remains. “Sounds about right.”
“I don’t fuck with meth, but my plug sells it for cheaper than she does.” Moving to sit criss cross on the floor, Anqueer runs a hand through her hair, grimacing as she comes out with bits of vomit. “Want his number?”
“Your plug is a man, isn’t he? They’re a lot more aggro. Putting out for guy dealers is a whole other level of scary.”
“I’m not putting out for him. I have enough cash to pay.” Anqueer says quickly enough that Ancom instantly would have known it was bullshit even if they weren’t already well aware of the other girl putting her sexuality aside in the name of ketamine and molly. Still, they weren’t about to call her on it, and Anqueer continues. “Anyways, wouldn’t it be cheaper if you started using needles?”
They shake their head firmly, chewing at their cheek inside their mouth. Seems like they probably bit themself last night. “Nah. Only addicts shoot up.”
Anqueer raises an eyebrow, and now it’s Ancom’s turn to feel defensive. “Okay.”
“I’m not.”
“I believe you.”
“I go, like, four days without using sometimes.”
“Like I said, I believe you.”
They sit together in silence, the room still filling with steam. They’ll get up eventually. There’s another party tonight, after all, and they need to be ready for it. Stuff to do, people to see, dealers to fuck.
“Thank you for the ride. Do you want me to get you anything?”
“Nah, don’t worry about it.” Ancom shakes their head as they pull into the liquor store parking lot. They’re a little bit of a risky driver, pulling in and out of places too fast, but Commie really isn’t in any position to complain about a free ride.
It’s not like she hates taking the bus, but the ones in this city seem to operate on a mysterious schedule known only to them, spoken in whispers in the night. Or, more likely, maybe the horrible congestion is responsible for their perpetual lateness. In any case, if Commie wants to get to and from the LCBO in under an hour and a half, she needs a ride, and Ancom was kind enough to give her one before starting their deliveries. “Really, are you certain?”
“Commie, seriously, it’s fine.” Giggling, Ancom pulls into one of the parking spots, taking a few extra seconds to manhandle the notoriously sticky shift into park. It’s kind of a miracle this ancient minivan hadn’t just fallen apart already, but Mutualist was surprisingly handy with cars, and somehow she’s kept it together (though Commie still suspects it’s about 99% duct tape holding the bumper on). “I’m coming in to grab some stuff for tonight, but you don’t have to get me anything.”
“If you’re sure.” Unbuckling her seatbelt and stepping out as Ancom does the same, Commie can hardly admit it to herself, but she’s kind of relieved Ancom didn’t accept the offer. She thinks her liquor tolerance is getting stronger, and while the level of drinks needed to get herself suitably plastered is growing, her income is not. Although she’s riding through school on a full Psychology scholarship thanks to her essays, Commie’s mother is in no place to help her financially past that. She works part-time at Dairy Queen and picks up a little more cash editing papers for a couple high schoolers, but she’s not exactly swimming in cash after rent and food are out of the way. Well, after those two and this necessity.
“I am sure! Come on, let’s get some fun coolers or something.” Ancom skips ahead (they might be a little high, now that Commie is thinking about it), the taller woman following behind at a much calmer pace. While liquor has never been Ancom’s ‘main thing’, they’re still fun to drink with.
As the two enter the store, Ancom picks up a plastic shopping basket, swinging it back and forth until Commie reaches to stop it. “Careful. If you hit a bottle with that and break it, we’re in trouble.”
“Boo, fun cop.” Sticking out their tongue playfully, Ancom strolls down the aisle, Commie splitting off from behind her briefly. She could find her way to the vodka section of this store blindfolded, frankly. Despite certain ethnic stereotypes, her choice of drink had more to do with it being cheap and mixable with most beverages. Even if all they had left was Gatorade, she’d find a way to mix vodka in. She’s cooled down slightly since first semester when she was bringing drinks into class (which she’d stopped doing mainly due to her rapidly depleting bank account), which is probably best for her grades. She probably wouldn’t have even continued doing it past the first day to get over her nerves had Ancom not seen and declared her 'so fucking metal'. Compliments from them… Made her really happy.
Realizing she’s starting to zone out again, Commie shakes herself back into reality, grabbing a handle of vodka off the shelf before heading off to the coolers where Ancom would presumably be. Lo and behold, the anarchist was perusing the collection of brightly-coloured cans, still moving their basket a bit recklessly (though it was now bearing a fifth of whisky). Seeing Commie arrive in the corner mirror, they turn around, cocking their head to the side. “Commiiiiiiie, I can’t decide on what to get.”
“That’ll depend on your preferred flavours.” Commie slides in beside them, her eyes flicking over the cooler selection. Looks like the ones with the highest alcohol percentage are on sale- goody. Two in the basket. “What taste is your favourite?”
“You set me up with the opportunity to say some real dirty things sometimes, you know?”
“It could be you’re just a pervert.”
“I’m wounded, Commie, wounded!” Grabbing her arm and mock-shaking it, Ancom doesn’t release the limb for a minute while they examine the shelves, and the communist can’t help but feel… She doesn’t know how to express this feeling. Is there any vocabulary in any language to describe ‘tense in a good way’? Eventually, Ancom releases her to grab a few from a low shelf, and Commie isn’t sure why she feels disappointed. “Okay, got what I need. Ready?”
“Yes.” Nodding, Commie follows Ancom again as the two head towards the line. “Aside from deliveries, do you have any plans today?”
The added weight seems to have at least kept Ancom from wildly swinging the basket much more. “Yeah, I’m gonna go see Ancap. Gotta re-up."
Ancap is another student in her psychology class, one who Commie… has kind of mixed feelings towards. Definitely leaning negative, but mixed nonetheless. On the surface, she was nice enough. Somewhat impatient and a little arrogant, but again, Commie’s a psychology major- she knows she’s arrogant too. Most of her disdain came from the whole ‘sells hard drugs’ bit. The communist knows that’s kind of a stupid thing to dislike her for- Ancom and the others would be buying drugs from someone else even if Ancap didn’t deal. But after going on a year living with Ancom, she’s not really fond of the girl giving them the drug that keeps them up for days and sends them into paranoid fits.
It has nothing to do with knowing how Ancom tends to pay for their drugs. Nothing at all.
“I see.” She manages after realizing she didn’t really respond to that. “I’m editing someone’s essay this afternoon, but that’s all for me.”
Giggling, Ancom tilts her head back to look up at the taller woman. “I like how you also scheduled your classes to have none on Friday.”
“I simply planned ahead to achieve maximum success in the semester.”
“Oki doki, party girl.”
The term almost makes her uncomfortable. Commie… Well, she parties , but she’d almost prefer if her housemates weren’t such social creatures. She’d much rather drink alone.
… That actually might be worse. Either way, the cashier is motioning her over, so she stuffs that thought in the back of her head to be buried with the rest. So she’s a ‘party girl’. Commie’s in university. That’s perfectly normal of her.
Perfectly normal.