towerofanimus | [OPEN][BACKDATED] Stitch me back, one by one!

Entry tags:

[OPEN][BACKDATED] Stitch me back, one by one!

Characters: Jade!Eridan Ampora, and YOU!
Setting: Floor 15, the workshop.
Format: I'll start with action, but I'll match you.
Summary: In which Eridan pretends he knows how to sew. Spoilers, he doesn't. Backdated to before the Labyrinth event!
Warning: None? I'll add if necessary.

[It's really not that hard, he figures, to use his torn jacket as a pattern and make a new one with some scraps of red fabric lying around. It's just. Cutting fabric and sewing it together. How hard can it be?

Apparently, very hard and not really a project for the uninitiated.

He's left the whole mess on a workbench for now, focusing on patching up his other pair of pants. That, at least, he's relatively used to. It's not the neatest of stitch-work, but at least it'll hold.

At least, he thinks with grim amusement, he has two hands now, to do this. Otherwise it'd be well and truly hopeless.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

...That's because I'm the Space player, Eridan.

All of those became doomed because I had to fulfill certain objectives to proceed, and I couldn't do that if I was dead. [Hey, he coded this game, alright. He knows a bit about what he's expected to do -- or at least, he does now. In the beginning he was screaming his head off like a rabid monkey. But that's a different story.] It has nothing to do with my personal ability, only my job within the game.

...even after you were done?

[He arches an eyebrow.]

I'm the Time player, remember? I know a thing or two about doomed timelines.

...

[This, he has no answer to. Good job, you've stumped an Equius.]

Yeah.

[He shrugs, moving on with his too-tight stitches and his guilt complex. Yeah.]

[The Let's-Ruin-Every-Conversation-We-Start Brigade strikes again. He'd figure out what he did in the timeline to cause its destruction later. For now, he decided to jump onto the other half od Eridan's rant.]

...What did you mean about the number seven?

Ah, nothing, nothing.

[Eridan offered Equius a small, wane smile.]

Time player nonsense, that's all.

What... kind of Time player nonsense?

[Great, now he looks worried.]

[Oh crap. Eridan offers a small smile.]

The kind I've already taken care of. Don't worry.

...Alright.

[He doesn't look entirely convinced, but it's not his place to argue...]

[...After all, Eridan is the Time player, not him.]

[At that moment, he seems to realize that there was a pile of fabric and thread on the table that belonged to him, and he wasn't really doing anything with it. It was... confusing, really, all of what Eridan had said. The lucky number he wasn't as concerned about. But the doomed timelines. Why? After he died, why did they all doom themselves? He immediately jumped to the possibility that there was some chain reaction caused by his lack of presence, um... there was only one person who really cared enough about him to react. And that was...]

[...oh. Oh dear.]

...Eridan... if I may ask... um, how did the doomed timelines... meet their fate?

It's... never the same.

[He works diligently, bit by bit, more concentrated on picking his words carefully than keeping his stitches even.]

The alpha is like clockwork, everything has to fit the way it's meant to, or everything goes to hell. It's not always melodramatic, either. But little changes start to pile up, decisions come too early or too late or not at all. Knowledge is never found. Goals are never accomplished. And in the end everything and everyone dies, one way or another, only the alpha survives.

[He reached the end of the thread he'd cut, so he tied it up and leaned in to bite the needle free and start the process again. At least now his row of stitches is a bit more presentable? If on the terribly squished side of business.]

The moment a timeline is doomed, well, it's doomed. Death for all the involved.

[Well, that doesn't make figuring it out any easier, but at least it makes some sense. If everything worked out (somehow), then there had to be an opposite version where it didn't. That would mean that the 'alpha' timeline would be... the luckiest? Or the one that served the most purpose? (He hated to say it, but that was simultaneously worrying and comforting.) So... would there be a timeline where Feferi remained in control? Was that doomed too? Why?]

[So many questions. ...Regardless, he had pried far enough. And they had work to do.]

[Lots of work to do. Especially now that Equius has introduced black shirts to the pool and Eridan has even more things to suffer through.

Joy.]

You shouldn't worry about it.

[He looked over the rim of his sunglasses at Equius, shrugging lightly.]

I'll take care of it.

[And would you look at that? He actually sounds pretty sure of himself about that. Enough it doesn't even need to be overstated. Leave the doomed timelines to him, safekeeping the alpha is what he does best.]

[YOU DON'T HAVE TO DO THEM, god. You know, he's always here to do it for you. Though he'd need to take your measurements and let's... not... continue down this train of thought.]

[He nods. Of course there's a part of him that wants to know how this time nonsense works, because that's the same part of him that wants to know how everything works. But, you know, he's actually pretty 0k with leaving it in Eridan's hands, too. Eridan has the knowledge and the tools that he doesn't, so he probably shouldn't stick his nose in, right? Right. So he's justified himself in leaving timeline understanding to the jadeblood, and maybe he could just drop the subject knowing that someone else has got it covered.]

[Maybe.]

[If he shut his eyes.]

[And happened to be particularly delusional that day.]

[YEAH NOPE it's just one more thing to concern himself about, though at least he has a solid argument that no matter what happened, one offshoot was going to come out of it okay.]

...Oh. Did you ever get your time reels sorted out?

[Oh. I see. Two trolls, a pile of black fabric and a measure tape, huh? Leave them alone and see where nature takes them, huh? I get it.

Eridan blinked at the question, then smiled, genuinely pleased.]

Yes, finally. A couple 'a me helped, back when there were like... four dozen 'a us running around. Feels good to have them back in working order though.

[Oh def-- NO. Get your creeper narrative away from me!!!!]

Oh, right... [And even though he made an attempt to meet Eridan's gaze when he smiled (should he? Shouldn't he? Eridan Ampora continues to be a veritable cesspool of confusion), he may have just looked back at his work when the multiple selves were brought up. That was an... interesting discussion. He kind of failed really spectacularly in that one, argh.] ...Um, well, it's good that they're operational again, at any rate.

[Your text says no, but we all know you love my narrative.]

Yeah. Less likely to fuck shit up this way.

[Eridan remains oblivious to how much of a confusing mess he is. To be honest, most of the time he's too busy being confused himself to realize he's confusing everyone within a ten mile radius of the spectacle of sheer fail that is his life.]

Last thing anyone needs is more jade on the walls.

[Morbid much?]

[Well, that makes sense! Confused people create confusion for others and drive them to confusion as well. It's a very simple pearl of action-tag wisdom; unfortunately, we can beat these two over the heads with it as many times as we want, but tragically it will never make any impact. In the meantime, however, we can grab the popcorn and watch.]

The last thing anyone needs is more anything on the walls. [It could have easily been a jab at the sanitary conditions of the place, which the pointed glance to the side would back up. Certainly, this floor had suddenly become much cleaner since he found it, and the kitchen was even worse. It's probably built up a healthy layer of OCD residue by this point. And, frankly, that's what Equius hopes Eridan interprets it as, because he either doesn't know or doesn't want to admit what he meant there.]

[I want popcorn now. This is your fault. I also want to put them in a box and ship them to a deserted island and see what they do.

Eridan snickered at Equius outburst, smile turning into a self-deprecating smirk.]

Point.

[That is a terrible idea and we should do it this minute.]

[He looks up as if he's going to apologize, but seeing the expression on Eridan's face, he wisely keeps his mouth shut. That one didn't seem to insult him, and they were kind of... alone in here. (Hey, sewing is not the Tower's voted most popular activity, okay.) So instead he gives an awkward mouth-twitch and looks down, hoping that Eridan didn't catch that little procession. It was the result of a foreign and truly baffling force called 'free thought', and he didn't like it one bit.]

[...Well, okay, maybe he quietly did in his heart-of-hearts, past the point where he's even aware. But he can make himself think that he didn't, and that's the same exact thing!]

...And... these are... done, I think. [He looks them over, tugs at a few seams, and eventually nods in his satisfaction, folding them all into a neat pile. Shortly afterwards, his attention floats over to Eridan and his progress, even though it probably shouldn't considering his... novice abilities.]

[Why aren't you making a post to my musebox yet?

Eridan doesn't notice, by virtue of having a very serious battle of wills with his own stitches. He does look up, however, at the sound of Equius' voice. He blinks. And because he is a busybody, he tilts his head to the side.]

You ain't gonna paint them?

[I would if I knew what it was!]

...Um, no. [He looks down at them. Immediately he gets that feeling that shit's gonna start sucking really, really soon. He should have expected this.] I... no, they're just... signless.

[Meanwhile, the metaverse groans, knee-deep in all the irony of it.]

[Eridan stared at Equius, hard enough the force of the groaning metaverse makes his glasses slide down his nose.]

Uh. Why?

[...]

[...He mumbles incoherently as a form of response, looking down at the clothes in his hand to justify looking at the ground.]

What?

[He's now leaning in, trying to hear.]

[Damn.]

[He sighs and explains, grudgingly; it begins with a sort of forced hardness like he just wants to get the sentence out of him, but like everything else, it fades to his typical escalating voice by the end.]

...The Grand Highblood told me that I ought to be wearing these, and I don't want to be the one to cross him.

[He should not feel as ashamed of himself as he does.]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject