[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

[geometry]

...Alright.

[Equius watches in mild amazement as Eridan just... rolls them up, and then decides that his pathetic amateur skills will no longer be of use here. So he gathers his long-discarded supplies again and leaves.]

[chronomancer]

[Once he's taken his roll of riles away - smaller than it originally was, thanks to Gamzee and the few he broke - Eridan makes his way to the forest floor, hands stuck inside the pockets of his jacket, ready to get some instruction done.]