towerofanimus | [OPEN] How much of it's genetics? How much of it is fate?

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[OPEN] How much of it's genetics? How much of it is fate?

Characters: jade!Eridan & YOU!
Setting: Workshop
Format: Starting with action, but I'll match you.
Summary: Eridan emerges from his self-imposed exile for a while to clean his rifles.
Warnings: Eridan's deadpan. Potential violence if he gets pissed; lots and lots of rifles. Gamzee. Gory, ironic death via Gamzee. Goddammit, Gamzee.

[He started off with one. And then he doomed himself a few times. And well. It wasn't like he could just let them go to waste, when they started piling up.

Laser rifles need a different type of maintenance than the usual kind, but it's still maintenance in the end.

So there's a sullen troll, half hidden behind a pile of guns, carefully cleaning one by one. It's a methodical and repetitive process, but it's not like Eridan seems to mind too terribly. He's just minding his business, but hey. Maybe if you ask very nicely, he'll give you one.

Maybe.]

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I prefer only shooting things that deserve it.

[Short, to the point and a nice way of not-quite threaten someone. Yay.]

[Oh that's a nice way of putting it.]

Great, I'll keep that in mind. Not that I ever did anything to those guys worthy of gettin' shot at.

[...the rest of his pack's another matter entirely but.]

Most people who handle rifles don't really have any business doing it.

[There's a healthy amount of scorn in that, but he only shrugs.]

An' obviously you're not most people, huh? I'd hope anyway, with that collection.

[After a moment of thinking...]

...how the hell do you even haul all of those around, magic?

...something like that.

[He shrugs. It mostly involves judicious use of his sylladex and time powers. But it's not like he's gonna explain that.]

[At best he'd just smile and nod anyway, so yeah, it's for the best not to waste the effort. Magic is something he understands well enough, so it's definitely an acceptable explanation.]

So you're something like a wizard then.

[And then Eridan snorts with the most obviously choked laughter in the history of ever.]

...something like that, yeah.

Hey, I know a lot of people who can do a lot of crazy shit. And some of them get really touchy about what you call them.

It's not that.

[Eridan shrugs.]

I just find it funny when people call me a wizard. Or mage. Or something.

Fair enough.

[He used to find it funny when people called him a werewolf, because what do you mean that's not normal?]

One of my best friends is a wizard. Got wicked aim too, never seen him try a gun though. Kinda against the law to have 'em, where I'm from.

[It's cool. He's a potential alien vampire thing, and he doesn't even know it. So fair's fair.]

There really isn't much of a law about it, back home. Aside. Well. Everyone having a weapon of choice.

[Eridan shrugs again. Raise your hand when you get tired of the shrugging. Then he'll shrug some more.]

Aiming with a gun is a little different though, than aiming with anything else. Lots of different things to take into consideration and that you have to compensate for.

[His bro's a vampire, you're in good company. And Ken does better with body language half the time anyway, so he's cool with the shrugging.]

Well, he uses bows, crossbows, darts. As for me, I wouldn't know. I mostly just bite things.

[Surprisingly effective for him.]

Yeah, I guess those are similar enough? But then there's the difference in weight and arc, as well as speed and wind resistance when you're aiming. Plus the kickback. Most people don't stop and think about the kickback and end up breaking bones as a result. It's almost funny.

[In as much as other's misery is funny I suppose. LET'S STOP TALKING ABOUT SHOOTING THINGS, or he'll never shut up. Eridan headtilts a little.]

Must be helluvva fast, to pull off close range like that huh.

Faster than a human anyway. And quite a few vampires.

[...yeah Aya may have told him to be discreet but you're obviously not a human thing so it's all good, right? Right. Totally. Yes. ~~If Omi were here he'd be getting hit with a rolled up newspaper.~~]

Depends on the human.

[Said Eridan darkly, thinking of his moirail, her entire rotten paradox family, and their fucking rad flashstep skills.]

Don't really like short range, myself. If I can help it.

[There's a pause.]

There's always the shovel, though. If anything else fails.

[He headtilts, thinks it over. Bizarre tower, bizarre people, you're probably right.]

Well, in my world anyway. 'Course, there's a lot of people out there.

[...huh, he's only been here a few days and already the 'my world' thing, this is a bit over the top. But he's learned to adjust to new circumstances before.]

...shovel. Well, if it works.

Mine does.

[This is not a very sane smile, please excuse the unhealthy amount of batshit crazy hiding in there.]

Trust me. It's all about technique.

[Dude he regularly rips throats out with his teeth and voluntarily donates blood to a vampire that regularly starves himself, his sense of self preservation and sanity isn't all there himself...]

Well sure, hit anything over the head hard enough and it'll go down.

[...this barely even strikes him as a weird conversation to have with a total stranger.]

I prefer one hit wonders, but that might just be the sharpshooter in me.

[Another shrug.]

You can get pretty clean, decent deaths if you know your angles well. Admittedly less messy than a exploding skull, but sometimes not nearly as satisfying.

[If you don't take him out of this tangent, he'll keep going alright. Notions of weird and sanity are all but neat pretenses at this point in time.]

[He's probably the worst person to manage that. Unless, of course, he isn't--his attention span is kinda off, and he can switch on a dime once he figures one line of conversation has run its course. He slides to sit on the floor, looking up at Eridan curiously.]

So...what are you, anyway?

[Eridan watches him sit down with a bit of a critical eye, shrugging somewhat.]

A troll.

[There's a small pause.]

Actual alien though, not the. Troll things in human history thing. Whatever those are.

[He doesn't like chairs, man.]

Big, not very nice, to humans anyway. I've never had a problem with one personally. Don't really talk a lot, but I've seen one throw a huge rock a good mile and a half like it was nothing. It was pretty awesome.

['s okay, just noteworthy. Eridan is kind of detail oriented.]

Yeah, no. I'll give you big, in general, and not very nice, to anyone. Not really, I guess. You need to be not nice when the whole shtick of the race as a whole is running a galactic empire but, yeah. Most of the ones around here are pretty okay, though.

[Except for the douchebags.]

Mass extinction does that, I guess.

[He's got a lot of weird little details like that.]

Yeah, no galactic empires involved with the trolls I know. They mostly stick to themselves, up in the mountains.

[The mass extinction thing though...not awesome. He looks...really sympathetic, actually. Not that he can really, completely, understand the feeling, but sudden dramatic shifts in your lifestyle and surroundings accompanied by the killing of almost everyone you ever knew, he's got that down. His head dips and shoulders hunch, echoing body language that's more natural in his other form.]

...what happened?

[And now you've got on a topic of sads. You're welcome. At least you're off the guns and mayhem.]

[...this is a topic of sads, but he's not gonna talk about it with someone he just met. Sorry, bro. You're gonna get the abridged, morbid humor take on it. Eridan shrugs.]

Rocks fell, everyone died.

[There's a pause.]

Well okay, rocks fell, monstrous horror from beyond got mad and screamed, and then everyone died. It's almost funny when you think about it, really.

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