towerofanimus | 001 ♑ [first honk]

Entry tags:

001 ♑ [first honk]

Characters: OU Gamzee and you!
Setting: Room 1-02, the cafeteria, and anywhere in between!
Format: Either are entirely welcome.
Summary: A doped-up, alien clown awakens in the strangest of places - and decides that he's hungry. Seems like he's got a good handle on priorities. Oh, chocolate shenanigans are good, too, although he hasn't eaten any!
Warnings: None that I can think of, except for Gamzee's filthy mouth.

Room 1-02:
[Sometimes a body just doesn't want to get its motherfuckin' move on. That's cool, though. Whatever it feels like doing, or not doing, is all chill with him. It's not like he wouldn't be laying here motionless anyway. This sure was an uncomfortable way to wake up. The immobility didn't bother him as much as the hard, flat surface he'd been placed upon. It certainly wasn't a recuperacoon - a conclusion he'd only come to because of the depressing lack of sopor slime. It also wasn't his horn pile, which he'd become accustomed to sleeping in while in the Veil. Oh, well! Better not to dwell on such trivial things, and get back at enjoying this wicked nothingness. The crazy feel of paralysis was gone, however, and Gamzee Makara regained his motor skills.

After lamenting the loss of that dope not-moving shit, he rolled not-so-gracefully off of the bed, smacking his large horns on the nightstand and landing with a "thud" on the floor. He'd managed to knock some sheets of paper off of the nightstand on his way down.

Oh. They were letters.

Well, he'd already known Alternia had been destroyed, but he was thankful for whoever wrote the letter to have saved him! And everyone being happy sounded like a fucking awesome time! He wanted to meet the author of this letter - they sounded pretty motherfucking chill.

What wasn't chill was this super-tight jumpsuit he'd been placed in. Who even gets up in a brother's bubble like that? Not that it was a huge deal. He was pretty okay with sharing his personal space, really. He crawled over to the trunk the letter had mentioned, and beamed excitedly when he saw what was inside. Among his usual clothes, which he quickly donned, he proceeded to overturn the chest, spilling bike horns, juggling clubs, and slime all over the floor. This was starting to feel more familiar already!

Eating the slime was not something he probably should have done, but who in their right mind would take an oatmeal-only rule seriously? Better yet, who not in their right mind would even notice that there was an oatmeal-only rule?

Uh-oh. The ol' nutrition sack wasn't feeling too well. In a fit of desperation, he scrambled out of the room and down the hallway.]

Cafeteria:
[After getting situated in his room and having had quite the terrible feeling in his stomach, Gamzee had somehow found his way to the cafeteria. It had taken a while, and he'd ended up going in circles, going into other people's rooms, going back into his own room, and generally unintentionally avoiding the place he'd been searching for.

He didn't really notice the bowl of oatmeal before him, and didn't remember how it got there, for that matter. What was this stuff? It was runny, sloppy, and slid over the edges of its bowl when he wobbled it from side to side (which he was doing quite enthusiastically). It reminded him of a discolored sopor pie... kind of. Hopefully it wouldn't make his digestive sack feel like a bag of angry bees like the pie had, however. He frowned at the thought, momentarily pausing his bowl-spinning game to dip and swirl a few fingers around in the stuff cautiously. The table was full of oatmeal, as were his fingers, now. He was generally making a mess, all while wearing a stupid grin.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Blink blink. Looks down at his crotch. OK, that...actually...gets an uproarious laugh from him. He makes himself quite comfortable now, sitting across from Gamzee at the table. It creaks under his weight, but the tables have suffered much worse from his hands before!]

Now see, motherfucker, there's all a little correction that needs to be all up and done on your motherfucking inquiry. [He reaches out with one claw and hooks it into the little troll's shirt, tearing a nice sized hole right into the circle of the symbol.]

This here symbol...[very quietly, like he's telling him a secret.] ...it is MY MOTHERFUCKING SYMBOL. [Suddenly roaring in his face.]

[He looks genuinely interested in whatever this guy has to say, wearing a contented smile as he sits down across the table. Until he snags his shirt, then it gets a little horrifying. ...Okay, a LOT horrifying. He hadn't thought meeting an adult would go over very well in the first place, but now he was SCREAMING AT HIM and Gamzee was not in the right state of mind to take this bravely.

There he goes, honking endlessly in fright and falling backwards out of the bench seat.

When he's done having a coronary, he'll stare meekly up at this crazy fuck.]

W-whoaaa, whoa, motherfucker... I ain't too sure about that. I been all wearing the fuck outta this shit since I been fuckin' hatched...

[WHAT EVEN DO YOU SAY WHEN SOMEONE TEARS YOUR CLOTHING AND BARKS AT YOU??? Well, you unintentionally challenge their assertions, I guess!? THE SMARTEST.]

Edited 2012-02-16 03:32 (UTC)

[The grin on his face stretches wide as the little troll topples over, honking like a loon. At least the wriggler knows when to be afraid. At least that much still registers into that motherfucking thinkpan.

He just gazes down at him nonchalantly, like that didn't even happen.]

I'll be giving you another motherfucking chance to get your sure on, little fucker. A clue, from my motherfucking magnanimous blood-pusher all to you! We'll all even go slow-like, get our motherfucking chill on while we contemplate this simplest of riddles. How's that all sound?

[There's an evil purr to his voice, like he's trying his best to lull the little troll into a false sense of security but purposely failing.]

Who. The motherfuck. Came first?

[The convoluted, yet calming tone of his voice has its intended reassuring effect. The smaller troll climbs back up to the table, fussing with the new hole in his shirt and slowly sliding his gaze up to the Highblood when he's interrogated again.]

Uhh...

[He really didn't want to be wrong again. This guy was making him think and it wasn't fun. His pan creaked and croaked as he tried to still the sliding fluidity of his vision. Nothing was working, and he didn't have the determination to try any harder to focus.]

Uhhhh, motherfuck... pretty sure I was all getting my eat on of this wicked shit before I saw you in here, brother. I think I'd get my fuckin' notice on of a big motherfucker such to be like yourself when I came in...

[BZZT. WRONG AGAIN.]

Ahh, I see how the motherfuck it is. [He props his elbows up on the table top, leaning forward to stare directly into those sopor-hazed eyes. His irises are still black. So young.]

Here I all am, trying to be all motherfucking helpful, but what the fuck do I all get in return? [This time, that claw is going for your face, little troll. Just be glad it's only his thumb and crooked forefinger that grasps his chin and tilts it up, like the poor thing could crane his neck any higher.]

A motherfucking dud. Open up those useless hearstubs all on the side of your motherfucking pathetic excuse for a head and listen well. You motherfucking ready, motherfucker?

[In contrast, this beast's eyes were ringed with a deep indigo, and they ripped through the gloss of his high. It felt like the Highblood's jagged claws had torn into both of Gamzee's pupils instead of his chin. Slowed reflexes nixed the chances of ducking away from his grasp - something he'd normally be able to dodge quite easily - and his neck was cranked up at a painful angle.

Who was this motherfucker? Why the fuck was he so intent on terrifying and terrorizing him? He gave a shudder as the Highblood berated him, not wanting to respond to his latest question. But he did.]

Lay it on me, motherfucker.

[Answering was probably a better choice than staying silent. Maybe? He had no fucking clue.]

[He gives Gamzee's head a little swaying motion, rubbing his thumb against the white paint and regarding it almost...fondly? But then it's back to business as he continues to gaze into the little troll's eyes, as if picking around into his brain via piercing through those eyes. It's like he's using the chucklevoodoos to implant that fear into the little troll, but he didn't seem to be needing that now did he?]

I am the Grand Highblood, and leader of the motherfucking Subjugglators. Even amongst my motherfucking brothers, fellow indigobloods, I am the highest. I am the one that will always be before you. [Then he's close enough to brush his lips against Gamzee's hair] YOU are a motherfucking afterthought in this miraculous circle of motherfucking life, a mere descendant, and a shitty-ass fucking example of it!

[He lets out a barking laugh, then releases the poor boy, but remains very much in his personal space until the smaller troll decides to the back the hell up...or straight up run away.]

[Sticks and stones, Highblood.

He was used to being insulted practically every day of his life. He didn't quite understand everything that was being inferred, but he certainly didn't let the inferiority talk affect him.

But there was this fear. This spine-rattling fear that gripped him so tightly. What the fuck was this feeling? It was so unnatural. Possibly because it was an actual feeling, sharp and rigid and not mottled or softened by a haze of sopor.

The Highblood's face was right in front of his. He'd smeared his paint, he'd scraped his chin. Physical aggression was an easier way to pry the cracks of his pan open. It was something bright and burning, forcing him lucid and evoking an unconscious defense.

He'd only gotten a taste of the sopor before having to run to the cafeteria. Pies had been scarce in the Veil before he'd awakened here, and the Highblood's assault was making his head throb in ways that were quickly verging on unbearable.

He wasn't quite angry. The remaining high and crushing fear had made sure of that. He was, however, feeling a little more defiant.]

Them blood colors don't make much fuckin' sense to me. Every motherfucker'd be better off paying them no motherfucking mind.

[His face will remain right up in yours, Highblood. He's scared shitless, but personal space was never something that he was protective of to begin with.]

[Oh shit. Oh his motherfucking shit.

OK, see, if Gamzee had made some biting comeback about anything else at all, the highblood would've reacted a lot more favorably. Maybe make a joke or two. But this? This. This was motherfucking blasphemy. There is no way that his descendant, of all people, would be someone that would disregard the hemospectrum - hell, the royal indigo bloodline - so blatantly. His eyes are wide in surprise, but his grin stays, a sort of manic look forming on his features.

This can't be happening. Is this real life... aha..hahahaa.....]

This had nothing to do with the colors of blood at first, but hey, since you all motherfucking brought it up... tell me-- [His voice has a slight trembling quality to it.] How would you like to be the motherfucking first?

[Alarms were ringing in his head, reverberating off of his skull and making his ear drums sing a broken, high-pitched cacophony. This was Not Okay. This was highly dangerous. This was an adult, and a fucking furious one at that. Was Gamzee stupid? Was he completely unaware of what he was getting himself into?

...Yes. Yes he was.

A little ball of heat nestled itself in his chest. The ball felt like it was wrapped in razor wire, pulsating every time a threat was made against him. This was weird. This was not normal. He needed to calm down. He needed to go back to his room and shove his face so far into a pie tin that he forgot all about this stupid tower, this stupid cafeteria, and this stupid confrontation.

But the confrontation wasn't stupid. It was exhilarating. It made his bloodpusher pound in his head, drowning out the ringing of those damn alarms. Sopor and anger were making him careless and snappish. Boy, you'd better check yourself before you wreck yourself.]

I wouldn't like to all be shit to you, motherfucker! Get your racist fuckin' hoofbeastshit out of my ducts and out of my motherfuckin' lookstubs, you fuckin' feel me!?

[Eheheh. Oh, that's some good anger right there. Directed all in the wrong motherfucking direction, sure, but it's a start. Better than what he all was before, spacing out and smiling like a total fucking moron. He chuckles lowly at first, then it escalates into an evil cackle.

Maybe there's hope yet.

He sort of ignores Gamzee's animosity towards him though, and definitely does NOT get out of his ducts and lookstubs! No way, not after that little display of potential. The loss of his Subjugglators was a hard hit, even if he doesn't really notice, so to think there could be a chance is something he's willing to work for. It'll keep him occupied, at least?]

You didn't even all hear what I was going to motherfucking ask you to be the first of, little motherfucker. [Almost affectionately, grinning again! Geez, sudden mood switch much?] And you got some guts there, which is all a damn shame since you all seem to be following in the footsteps of the motherfucking revolutionary lowblood scum. Mind if a brother all takes a peek?

[He sticks his finger out again and jabs Gamzee in the stomach hard, chuckling.]

Edited 2012-02-16 09:29 (UTC)

[Ugh. He was sickeningly unpredictable, this ancestor of his. Now that he didn't appear to be in any immediate danger, Gamzee's temper had subsided drastically. It had exhausted him, just those few little quips, and that burning in his chest dropped right into his stomach, leaving him confused, and admittedly, a little nauseous. He wished this motherfucker would leave him alone and stop stirring up all these crazy nasty feelings inside him.]

Sorry, brother, but I ain't all got no motherfucking interest in what you be asking at m--

[His pitiful retort was abruptly cut off by a slamming jab to his belly. The Highblood was strong, and anything Gamzee would have to say about his forceful prodding didn't matter, because he currently had no wind left in him to say it.

It didn't help his nausea, either. His head hurt, his guts were churning hideously from being teased and injured, and all he wanted to do was to crawl back into his room to forget this ever happened.

What happened to the Veil? What happened to all of his friends? What happened to him??? Why was everything suddenly so terrible, when it all had been mysterious and exciting just moments prior?

Whatever indigo that was visible through his paint quickly left his face. A cold pain had begun to spread across his stomach. He felt sick. The oatmeal couldn't find a good place to settle inside him, either.

He was helpless. He needed to get to his room. He turned desperately to leave, but soon doubled over, coughing and sputtering to try to regain the air in his lungs.]

Edited 2012-02-16 10:42 (UTC)

[In most cases, the highblood would've just outright culled the little shit at this point. Gamzee's a back-talking, sopor-ingesting lowblood sympathizer...and that's everything he did not want to be seeing in his descendant. He really shouldn't have expected much, seeing as he was well forewarned by that stupid human scientist, but damn, it still stung! Such a huge disappointment, that it made his blood-pusher shrivel up in his rib cage, the air around him suddenly weighing down like-- whoa, fuck. What is this?

Was this...a sudden flicker of pity for the little troll?

Gamzee is wheezing and coughing in front of him from just a simple jab to the stomach, enough to reduce the little troll to a sick mess. So weak. So skinny, lanky, awkward, sad and pathetic for one of his proud lineage. It just didn't make sense, and the wriggler was wasting away because of his stupid motherfucking life choices!! He could've been aspiring to be a subjugglator by now! What the fuck had his lusus even been doing prior to all this tower noise?

Reflecting on his own past about his own lusus made him wonder if the little one had a guardian that was just as inattentive as his. Rarely did the highblood feel pity, but Gamzee is still an indigoblood, as shitty and pathetic as he was, and although he felt culling him and painting the walls with the color that was identical to his would've been a great service to the boy, he would only return. Good as new. Stupid as ever.]

A motherfucking shitblood-sympathizing disgrace, is what you all are. [Sneers down at Gamzee. He didn't really feel like telling him that death isn't permanent.] Now I've been all motherfucking prepared for this moment, little fucker. Did some brief spongestorming on the harshest schoolfeeding and shit that I would rain down on your motherfucking sludgebowl excuse of a pan, and come up with a real motherfucking good idea to get your wicked DETOX ON.

[Like fuck if he was going to be culled here. Life was still stretched too far ahead of him. He'd only begun to step his dirty, purple sneakers along the road that stretched over all those endless miracles. He had always seen that road so vividly, illuminated by lights that burned just a little too bright - but right now the lights were dimmer than he'd ever remembered them being. His ancestor filled up his vision, his hearing - fuck, all of his senses were being assaulted and overwhelmed by this monstrosity and his darkness. The darkness that reached in, cackling, through every flaw in his pan, clawing and raking its way to the corners of his mind and implanting in him a deep-seated dread.

This motherfucker was stealing up all of his miracles in a matter of minutes.

Such a juxtaposition were these two, emblazoned with the same symbol, veins pumping the same blood. Blood that one believed shouldn't be spilled, while the other fantasized maniacally about covering the walls with it.

This disgustingly synthetic fear threatened to swallow up his insides, waging war against his already battling emotions. His unending placidity was being quickly overcome by a burning desire to defy everything the Highblood expected of him. Maybe, though... maybe it would be easier to just comply? Maybe everything would get better if Gamzee just rolled with it. He was good at that. At least, he'd been good at it when he first walked in to this room. He'd been good at it his whole fucking life up until this point, actually. Until his ancestor up and had the audacity to be making a brother get his irritation on. Who the fuck was this motherfucker to yank him by the honk horns, yank the tightrope from under his feet so hard, and demand everything he believed so strongly against from him within moments of laying eyes on him!?

He was nauseous, he was calm, he was angry, he was scared, he was sober, he was high. He sneered back at this fucker, lips curling away from his fangs.]

You keep getting your listen all on at me, motherfucker, but you ain't MOTHERFUCKING HEARING A WORD I BE MOTHERFUCKING SAYING. Now why don't a brother get his MOTHERFUCKING CHUTE CLAMPED so the other brother can get to be spewing some harsh schoolfeeding OF HIS MOTHERFUCKING OWN.

[Aughhh, his head hurt, and he grabbed it. This wasn't happening! He couldn't believe the voice whistling between his teeth was his own. It scared him, adding to the blanket of fear that was already settling over everything else. When next he spoke, it was with a shaky, forced control. A crude mockery of his usual easygoing manner.]

You ain't my fucking lusus. Leave this motherfucker the fuck alone...

[His voice cracked.]

...please.

[The highblood practically coos at Camzee's little outburst. There's something so familiar about that fluctuation in his voice, not as familiar to Gamzee but so vividly to the highblood. It reminds him further of his long lost wrigglerhood, but despite this nostalgia hit, he's hardly able to take any of this seriously. He didn't give a shit what the little troll had to say about anything. He's heard enough, and feels he knows everything that he needs to know. The energy, however, is exhilarating. The wide range of emotions, the strength of his fear, anger...he practically fed on that shit. His chucklevoodoo radar was going off a mile a minute, because dear Gamzee, you're the perfect motherfucking prey.

But at the same time, he doesn't want to prey on him like he did with most trolls. He wants to treat him like a project, a pet he can influence from the darkest shadows. It'll be tough though, what with how the troll was behaving now. He seems pretty intent on hating the highblood's guts, which he was perfectly content with.

Time. It's something he's got plenty of now, though it had been a bitter afterthought at first, it's now a blessing. A blessing in motherfucking disguise. He'll learn more about Gamzee, and oh he will truly get to know him soon enough.]

Shh shh, little motherfucker. Don't you all say another motherfucking word. [He pastes a sickeningly gentle grin on his face, obviously an insincere expression.] Don't you even motherfucking dare to fight it. It's all in your royal fucking blood, and a motherfucker can't be all suppressing that shit, no matter how much sopor you shove down your chute.

[though he's tempted to reach for the boy again, he keeps his claws to himself. He doesn't want to scare the living bejesus out of him anymore. His job's already done. He's already punctured a hole in the poor troll's soul, anger and fear seeping in at varying speeds.

Like he thought, it's only a matter of time before he breaks.] And don't you all motherfucking think about comparing me to a shitty fucking lusus. I will not show even an ounce of motherfucking mercy like they say they all will. But hey, it's your lucky day, kid. You won't be dying tonight, and that's all a wicked promise that all fell from the sky like a miracle. It's what it is. A motherfucking miracle that you're still alive.

[That surprises him. This crazed killer, so hell-bent on putting him in his place and cutting down anyone standing in his way, suddenly deciding not to splatter his precious fucking blood all over the place? It was quite a flip. Not that he was complaining, of course. He'd barely managed to croak:]

Seems all to be fuckin' merciful of you, actually, if you were to get your ask on of this motherfucker.

[Was that gratitude? Who knew? This altercation had rendered him completely useless - a wriggler could have probably knocked him around at this point. Gamzee couldn't even look at the Highblood anymore. Fatigue tugged his eyelids down, down, until he was burning a hole in the floor with his stare. There it was again, the numbness. Where had it been this whole time? Why did it abandon him when he had needed it the most? He gratefully let it wash over his mind, sweeping away all of the negative energy that had been wreaking havoc inside his skull.

Disturbing as it was, Gamzee found a hideous sort of solace in the soothing words of his ancestor, latching on to his fabricated tone like a starved grub. The Highblood knew what he was going through, even though Gamzee had never experienced it ever before. He said it would be okay. ...Would it be okay? He wrapped around the Highblood's reassurance as if it would keep him safe. Foolish child. So naive.]

I ain't like you. Gettin' your harsh on what's wicked like that ain't cool, and I don't much motherfuckin' like it, I think.

...So, sorry.

[He can't help but chuckle, seeing how much the little troll had calmed down all of a sudden. Maybe it won't be so difficult to mold and shape him into a troll that's better fitted for the liquid running through his veins. As long as there weren't any negative outside influences, of course, like say...sopor? People who wanted to keep feeding him sopor to dumb him down? He wouldn't be surprised if those who feared the temperament and strength of indigobloods decided to take advantage of the poor stupid boy and try to feed him that swill.

Fuck, sopor is for sleeping in, not eating.... he still can't wrap his mind around as to why Gamzee thought that was ever a good idea.

His voice still low and content, rumbling in the back of his throat, the highblood looks down at him with a new-found fondness.]

Don't motherfucking apologize for that noise, little motherfucker. No one's all the same as their ancestors, and we can be all accepting that shit. Fuckers gotta do what they all feel they gotta do, and the message they receive from the most darkest divine of the divine differs from one motherfucker to the other-- [though in his mind, they all still follow a disturbingly similar pattern of culling and subjugglating] So don't get your motherfucking sweat on about it just yet. You'll find your motherfucking path. [To the dark carnival, he practically screams in his mind. Yeah, you'll find your way there eventually, little one.]

Now, what's a motherfucker gotta be all calling his sorry-ass excuse of a descendant?

[He nods slowly, finally looking up at the Highblood with a renewed sense of security. Well, that was certainly a whirlwind of emotions just now. It all seemed so long ago... maybe it was a dream? Sure, that seemed like a really good explanation! That whole scene would be shoved under a metaphorical rug in the attic of his pan, to be promptly forgotten.

Aw, listen to this guy! Motherfucker doesn't need to get his apology on to a brother for bein' all apologetic in the first fuckin' place. They'd probably just gotten off on the wrong foot. Gamzee knew plenty of angry brothers and sisters, and they were great friends! Why had he been so afraid of the Highblood to begin with? It was certainly an unnatural feeling...

Despite all of the things he was oblivious to, Gamzee was never one to disrespect a brother. If the Highblood wanted to chew the wicked fat for a while, he was definitely down for that! That longing for a pie was still there, but it didn't feel as urgent as it had. He took a deep breath, the dopey smile finally returning to his painted lips.]

...Name's Gamzee, motherfucker! Nice to be gettin' my introduce on at you! What's a brother get to be answerin' all to for his fuckin' self?

[Yes, good. Lull yourself into this false sense of comfort and security. He can't help but grin all the wider, partially pleased and partially disappointed at his descendant's gullible and carefree attitude. Well, at least there's another thing in common that he realized. Their moods flip-flop at the drop of a motherfucking dime.]

You will be all calling me The Grand Highblood, Gamzee. [He lets the name settle on his tongue. It's a good name.]

[He scratches his face in confusion, smearing his paint some more. Oops. Well whatever, it was a mess already anyway. Did this motherfucker have a name? Of course, he had to, everyone had a name... right? Well, if he didn't want to be called by it, that was chill, too. Everything was chill. He rolled with it.]

Bitchtits, Highbloodbro! Honk!

[He stared down at the oatmeal. He'd completely forgotten about it, and just looking at it made his stomach flop around. This whole room had become oddly disconcerting.]

Uhhh... you mind if we shoot this wicked shit somewhere, like, that ain't here?

[He tilts his head slightly, still grinning.]

Now why the fuck do you all want to be doing that for? [Of course, he can't really sense Gamzee's distaste for the oatmeal from what he can see.]

[He poked at the bowl of porridge, sliding it around on the table like a reluctant little kid pushing the veggies around on his plate.]

...Mostly 'cause this motherfucker be like, all having the creepy-crawlies up in his nutrition sack from having to keep gettin' his look on at this shit.

[And hesitating a little, slowwwwly looking back up at the GH.]

Unless, uhhh... you don't fuckin' wanna.

Edited 2012-02-19 07:52 (UTC)

[He stares down at the oatmeal, then back at Gamzee. It's not like people haven't tried to do what he only wanted to do. Fuck, it was pretty natural actually. But he has no qualms with leaving the cafeteria. Place was a motherfucking sad excuse of a dining block anyway.]

Tell a brother what's all on your motherfucking mind of where you want to go.

[Well, he had ended up here by happy accident, so he didn't... really know where anything was. All he knew was that he didn't want to be here.]

Uhhh...

[He looked around, as if an answer would be painted on a sign in big letters. He still felt uneasy about not giving this guy a straight answer. Fidgeting, now.]

I, uh, don't even got my remember on for where all I got to be comin' down here from, I think... Anywhere that ain't got this funky smell kickin' around be fine with me.

[His immediate to-go place was floor thirteen, where the sound-oppressive cathedral awaited him each day. Getting up from the table that practically collapses from the relief, he starts to head out of the cafeteria, sparing Gamzee a brief glance.]

Follow.

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