gAmZeE MaKaRa ♑ terminallyCapricious (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hystericull) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
towerofanimus2012-04-20 12:28 am
hystericull) wrote in towerofanimus2012-04-20 12:28 am
420 ♑ [four-hundred twentieth honk]
Characters: Gamzee and YOU!
Setting: Floors 11 and 22, but he's wandering, so anywhere!
Format: Action is preferred but I'll match.
Summary: OH LOOK AT THE DATE TODAY GUESS WHO'S HAVING A BIG OL' CELEBRATION!? Of course, he knows not why the date is so relevant, but Gamzee has always been fond of those three little numbers. There is pie, and lots of it and whoever happens to interact with him is getting their celebratory zone on, no ifs, ands, or buts.
Warning: STONED CLOWNS AND STONED ANYONE WHO COMES NEAR HIM! And if you don't want your character high as a kite and seeing the most pimpest of motherfucking miracles, that's okay, too. I GUESS!!! Also, Gamzee's vulgar language always.
Floor Eleven
[The wall-less, lake-filled rainbow room. Why had Gamzee not found this floor sooner!? It was abso-fucking-lutely the dopest motherfucking place for any brother to up and all get his chill on. The magnificence of nature at its finest was slightly flawed by the numerous pie tins scattered around this sprawled-out troll. Their neon-green substance varied in completion; some entirely consumed, others half-full (never half-empty!), and other still untouched. Soon enough.
It was hard to tell if Gamzee was sleeping or not. His eyes were open, if only just, staring blithely up at the numerous rainbows crossing over what would be the ceiling of this room (if it had a ceiling), a stupid smile plastered all over his painted face. There were probably copious amounts of drool, as well, but who would dare look close enough to find out?
At some point, sometime, he'd made a flower crown for himself. It hung carelessly from one horn, tumbling over the grass underneath him as he lay down near the lake's edge. This was beautiful. Life was beautiful and perfect and this Tower was full of miracles. All of the people he met were miracles, this floor was a miracle, the oneness of everything in the tower was a miracle. It was all so apparent, now that he'd taken the time out to properly slam a few pies.
He sighed absently, fondly, tipping his head back slightly to marvel at more of the rainbows stretching out above him and lifting slow fingerfuls of slime from the tin of his stomach to his lips. Sometimes he got it in his mouth, sometimes not. That's all right. Things just happened the way they were all meant to happen, no motherfucking sweat about none of that shit.]
Floor Twenty-Two
[If you happen to run into Gamzee in the art gallery, you'll grow very tired of observing him. He seems to be rooted in front of a painting, slopping slime everywhere as he eats it, focused on the subtle intricacies and hidden meanings in each piece that captures his attention. Which happens to be quite a few of them.
The colors in this one, man. The colors. And the swirls. How do they even do that?
His disgusting teeth and gums are clearly visible as he gawks, droopy-eyed and slack-jawed in front of each work of art, not even moving his head when he takes another swallow of pie.]
Anywhere Else
[Got a better idea? Gamzee's meandering around in a sopor stupor all day. Wherever your character happens to be, he's likely to run in to them, pie in hand. Faygo will probably be provided, but don't expect it to come without a price! Just leave your desired setting in the subject line and I'll happily follow suit.]
Setting: Floors 11 and 22, but he's wandering, so anywhere!
Format: Action is preferred but I'll match.
Summary: OH LOOK AT THE DATE TODAY GUESS WHO'S HAVING A BIG OL' CELEBRATION!? Of course, he knows not why the date is so relevant, but Gamzee has always been fond of those three little numbers. There is pie, and lots of it and whoever happens to interact with him is getting their celebratory zone on, no ifs, ands, or buts.
Warning: STONED CLOWNS AND STONED ANYONE WHO COMES NEAR HIM! And if you don't want your character high as a kite and seeing the most pimpest of motherfucking miracles, that's okay, too. I GUESS!!! Also, Gamzee's vulgar language always.
[The wall-less, lake-filled rainbow room. Why had Gamzee not found this floor sooner!? It was abso-fucking-lutely the dopest motherfucking place for any brother to up and all get his chill on. The magnificence of nature at its finest was slightly flawed by the numerous pie tins scattered around this sprawled-out troll. Their neon-green substance varied in completion; some entirely consumed, others half-full (never half-empty!), and other still untouched. Soon enough.
It was hard to tell if Gamzee was sleeping or not. His eyes were open, if only just, staring blithely up at the numerous rainbows crossing over what would be the ceiling of this room (if it had a ceiling), a stupid smile plastered all over his painted face. There were probably copious amounts of drool, as well, but who would dare look close enough to find out?
At some point, sometime, he'd made a flower crown for himself. It hung carelessly from one horn, tumbling over the grass underneath him as he lay down near the lake's edge. This was beautiful. Life was beautiful and perfect and this Tower was full of miracles. All of the people he met were miracles, this floor was a miracle, the oneness of everything in the tower was a miracle. It was all so apparent, now that he'd taken the time out to properly slam a few pies.
He sighed absently, fondly, tipping his head back slightly to marvel at more of the rainbows stretching out above him and lifting slow fingerfuls of slime from the tin of his stomach to his lips. Sometimes he got it in his mouth, sometimes not. That's all right. Things just happened the way they were all meant to happen, no motherfucking sweat about none of that shit.]
[If you happen to run into Gamzee in the art gallery, you'll grow very tired of observing him. He seems to be rooted in front of a painting, slopping slime everywhere as he eats it, focused on the subtle intricacies and hidden meanings in each piece that captures his attention. Which happens to be quite a few of them.
The colors in this one, man. The colors. And the swirls. How do they even do that?
His disgusting teeth and gums are clearly visible as he gawks, droopy-eyed and slack-jawed in front of each work of art, not even moving his head when he takes another swallow of pie.]
[Got a better idea? Gamzee's meandering around in a sopor stupor all day. Wherever your character happens to be, he's likely to run in to them, pie in hand. Faygo will probably be provided, but don't expect it to come without a price! Just leave your desired setting in the subject line and I'll happily follow suit.]
omg nope i'm outy
[SUDDEN DAWNING STONEREALIZATION!]
It's like... [He takes a fingerful of sopor, holding it up to his face to study.] ...like, what if them Tower bitches? What if they all went up and knew, you know?
[Where was he going with this... maybe more sopor would help.]
Uhh... oh!
What if like, they all... motherfuckin' went... and fuckin'... got all them green miracles, and like, fuckin' were to put them all at the same motherfucking place? Like...
[There was sopor on his finger. There was a blade of grass stuck to the sopor stuck to his finger. He wiped both on the green stripe of Eridan's hair. The lime of the sopor clashed with the jade, and the blade of grass was a dark, forest green against them both.]
Shiiiit. Look at that fucking noise, brother.
[Too bad he couldn't. Because, you know, it was on his head.]
COME BACK AND DANCE WITH ME! ono
Instead, Eridan tries to look at what Gamzee's doing, squinting.]
But. You listen to the colors!
[Shut up. That made sense in his head. Everything makes sense in his head.]
no subject
You fuckin' do, brother. You fuckin' do get your hear on of the noise them fuckin' wicked colors be telling all in you. Get right straight-out mother fucking spiritual at you, they all motherfuckin' do!
[He sat up, just a little, flopping against Eridan's head rather roughly and pressing an ear up against the sopor/grass/hair mess.]
Can hear your fuckin' pan, motherfucker.
no subject
I don't think I can hear my own. Can I?
[He laughed again and bumped his head into Gamzee's as he did.]
I hear echo.
[And empty air.]