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

[chronomancer]

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.]

Comments

[selfinteresting]

'The Empire'? Dictators, I assume?

[chronomancer]

Galactic Government.

[He shrugs.]

Could be worse, I suppose. At least I'm not from a conquered species.

[selfinteresting]

That sounds like an interesting world, to be sure. But then, I guess it's not so different from the way some countries on Earth are. At least this place is something different, hm?

[chronomancer]

I suppose.

[He sighs a little.]

At least back home everything had a point, though. Here it's more like. Oh yeah, let me make you miserable for the sake of entertaining the admins.

[selfinteresting]

Are they really just interested in schadenfreude, then?

[chronomancer]

Well, if you find the method to their madness, you might be pretty fuckin' off the deep end yourself.

[selfinteresting]

[Giggle] I think everyone has some affinity for it, really. But it sounds like the administrators are pretty extreme.

[chronomancer]

[Eridan shrugs again, frowning.]

You'll find out soon enough.

[It's less of a threat and more of a sad reality, in his eyes.]