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)
towerofanimus2012-12-01 05:45 pm
hystericull) wrote in towerofanimus2012-12-01 05:45 pm
008 ♑ [eighth honk]
Characters: [OU] Gamzee and you!
Setting: Laundry room.
Format: Action.
Summary: After having his ass forcefully dragged to the ablution chamber by his moirail for a scrub-down (and then subsequently jumping on to a pile of rifles and blowing himself to bits, negating all efforts anyway), Gamzee is feeling a little bit like a burden, and decides to do his own laundry for once. It would certainly help if he knew how.
Warnings: Gamzee.
[This was certainly somewhere Gamzee had never been.]
[Laundry was certainly something he had never, ever done or entertained the thought of doing.]
[He was now, however, on the third washing machine in (seeing as the first had exploded in thick, swirling plumes of dark smoke and bubbles - presumably as a result of using two bottles of detergent, and the second one had proceeded to overflow, and then overflow some more after he punched and dented its cover in a hissy fit), trying to decipher the knobs and dials so he could at least attempt to get the correct settings for his new winter jacket. He was a little worse for wear, by now. The washing machines liked to spew scalding water whenever possible, and it had doused him more than once. His hands were soapy and bright purple from being burnt as he reached for the knob on the third machine.]
[Dying had sort of solved his hygeine problem. He stood there now looking as clean as ever - face paint carefully applied like it had been when he'd first arrived, hair its natural jet black again, ratted and tangled in a mess of curls. The clothes on his back were also reverted, so they really didn't need any washing (well, they certainly did seeing as he came from being stuck on a meteor for God knows how long, but they were infinitely cleaner than they had been just yesterday).]
[A steaming pie sat smack dab in the middle of the cover to the current, functioning machine he was attempting to use. He eyed it warily. Breakfast sounded much better than trying to figure this shit out further, as it was only proving to make him more frustrated. He didn't want to punch this one to bits like its brethren and have to move on to a fourth. Maybe a snack break wasn't such a bad idea?]
[Detergent bottles were everywhere. He'd used two on the first machine, the rest of a half-empty one on the second, and accidentally dumped another full one all over the floor (and himself). Between the clouds of smoke, he waded through the syrupy liquid to seek out another bottle for his third attempt at washing this damn thing.]
[This would be a lot easier if he would just ask for help. But, he couldn't. After the whole shower thing, he'd been feeling much like an unintelligent, useless burden. Even though he hadn't really ever been taught how to use one of these things (or even that one should wash their clothes on a regular basis), he figured it would have been pretty easy to teach himself. Evidently not.]
[Now, where was that other detergent bottle?]
Setting: Laundry room.
Format: Action.
Summary: After having his ass forcefully dragged to the ablution chamber by his moirail for a scrub-down (and then subsequently jumping on to a pile of rifles and blowing himself to bits, negating all efforts anyway), Gamzee is feeling a little bit like a burden, and decides to do his own laundry for once. It would certainly help if he knew how.
Warnings: Gamzee.
[This was certainly somewhere Gamzee had never been.]
[Laundry was certainly something he had never, ever done or entertained the thought of doing.]
[He was now, however, on the third washing machine in (seeing as the first had exploded in thick, swirling plumes of dark smoke and bubbles - presumably as a result of using two bottles of detergent, and the second one had proceeded to overflow, and then overflow some more after he punched and dented its cover in a hissy fit), trying to decipher the knobs and dials so he could at least attempt to get the correct settings for his new winter jacket. He was a little worse for wear, by now. The washing machines liked to spew scalding water whenever possible, and it had doused him more than once. His hands were soapy and bright purple from being burnt as he reached for the knob on the third machine.]
[Dying had sort of solved his hygeine problem. He stood there now looking as clean as ever - face paint carefully applied like it had been when he'd first arrived, hair its natural jet black again, ratted and tangled in a mess of curls. The clothes on his back were also reverted, so they really didn't need any washing (well, they certainly did seeing as he came from being stuck on a meteor for God knows how long, but they were infinitely cleaner than they had been just yesterday).]
[A steaming pie sat smack dab in the middle of the cover to the current, functioning machine he was attempting to use. He eyed it warily. Breakfast sounded much better than trying to figure this shit out further, as it was only proving to make him more frustrated. He didn't want to punch this one to bits like its brethren and have to move on to a fourth. Maybe a snack break wasn't such a bad idea?]
[Detergent bottles were everywhere. He'd used two on the first machine, the rest of a half-empty one on the second, and accidentally dumped another full one all over the floor (and himself). Between the clouds of smoke, he waded through the syrupy liquid to seek out another bottle for his third attempt at washing this damn thing.]
[This would be a lot easier if he would just ask for help. But, he couldn't. After the whole shower thing, he'd been feeling much like an unintelligent, useless burden. Even though he hadn't really ever been taught how to use one of these things (or even that one should wash their clothes on a regular basis), he figured it would have been pretty easy to teach himself. Evidently not.]
[Now, where was that other detergent bottle?]
no subject
Did...you make that mess all by yourself?
[And looking at those machines, it's quite clear that a janitor isn't the only thing needed. A mechanic would probably have to be called in as well.]
no subject
[He needed that pie. He needed that pie so badly or else he was going to put this poor soul through the machine himself. And it wouldn't be the delicate cycle.]
[Gamzee decided this was as good a time as any for that snack break. He snatched the tin of green, radioactive slime from the top of the currently-functioning machine, letting his filthy jacket drop to the floor and whirling around to try and peer through the smoke at his visitor.]
Motherfuckers up in this bitch ain't being all too fuckin' keen on makin' their asses useful for a brother.
no subject
[The smoke was stinging Lancer's eyes and nose, but since he was a Servant, he could still see the rough outlines of the guilty party and the strange color of the item in his hand. He makes a face. Is that some sort of Tower detergent?]
no subject
[His retort was a little too harsh for such a logical observation. He was already pissed off enough from the faulty washers. Be smart about this, Gamzee. You tried doing something without your moirail, and you fucked it up. Don't make it worse by engaging a stranger and attempting to splatter their blood all over everything else you've destroyed.]
[He sucked in a breath, scooping a fingerful of slime out of the pie tin and popping it into his mouth. There was a moment of silence as he let the globby substance roll down his throat.]
no subject
[Lancer walks through the smoke, coming closer to the strange, horned figure. It reminds him of some things he had seen a while back. Trolls, were they? And they had this one ambassador.]
And by "same", do you mean blowing up a washing machine and clogging up another? Because if we all did that, none of this shit would be functional.
[Hell, Lancer would help this guy if he just stops being such a dick.]
no subject
Urgh. Uhhh...
[His tongue felt funny. He smacked his painted lips together.]
Shiiiit...
[Gamzee stood there dumbly, holding the pie tin up on the flat of his palm, and letting the arm that once held his jacket drop to his side. His head swung around on his shoulders - side to side like those joints had been over-lubricated.]
Don't really much fuckin' remember if it all was to be being functional in the first motherfuckin' place, yo.
no subject
Yeah, I'd they used to be functional, until you fucked them up.
[He puts a hand on the second machine. Gah, this smell of stinky clothes mixed with detergent made him want to puke.]
First thing's first. Get your clothes out.
no subject
Ain't got no clothes up in that bitch there, motherfucker.
[He'd only come here to wash the jacket. He'd started the other machines because the only thing he'd had to relate them to was a shower or tub, which you had to turn on first before putting yourself in. The dirty clothes in question consisted of the bloody jacket on the floor, and nothing else.]
Just this little dude.
no subject
Look, first you stick this in the machine.
[He opens the lid of the final machine and holds the jacket out for Gamzee. Just because he was giving the kid a demo doesn't mean he has to do everything himself.]
no subject
[Gamzee tore the jacket out of the stupid human's hands. He actually didn't know that. He didn't know anything about how any of this shit worked, but like hell was he going to admit to being a huge failure at this, too. He tossed the jacket into the machine with about as much irritation as he could put into the action.]
This fucker better not be all to eat that thing, or it's gonna have me gettin' my most capricious of tossings on at its fuckin' entrails all up in this motherfuckin' bitch.
no subject
[He motions to the dials.]
Now, do you know which setting to turn on?
[Most likely not, judging by how little he seemed to know of washing machines.]
If you can't tell me that, can you tell me if the jacket is made of any delicate shit like wool or something?
no subject
[Setting, setting... what setting? There were a lot of them. Should he just guess? The machines that had suffered his wrath earlier had been set to different settings to find out which one worked the best. It wasn't really obvious which setting did what, so he was basically still at square one after all of those experiments.]
It, uh. It's fuckin' made all outta some soft shit. It's warm, too.
[So helpful.]
no subject
Right. Uh...let's turn this to medium then.
[He points at the parts of the dial.]
Here's high, here's medium, and here's low. Now, turn it.
no subject
Uh... 'kay.
[He reached out, twisting the dial to the "medium" setting. He let go immediately after, snapping his hand back like the thing was a deadly cobra ready to tear his hand straight off.]
Press the button?
[Before waiting for confirmation, his finger was already reaching out to poke the "start" button. Gamzee, you're still holding your fucking jacket, what the fuck are you doing?]
[Can anyone be this bad at something?]
no subject
You were supposed to put the detergent in first.
[He looks toward the empty bottle.]
Get me a full bottle. I'll put it in.
no subject
[Gamzee looked around halfheartedly. Was there even a full bottle left? Bending over, he scooped one off of the ground by his feet. It was almost entirely covered in slimy soap, dripping off of the bottom and coating his hand as he held it by the handle. There was still about a quarter of a bottle left.]
Uh, will this work?
no subject
[He makes a disgusted face and then takes the bottle. He slowly tips it and pours what he thinks is the right amount into the spinning washer. Hopefully, it won't overflow.]
no subject
Fuuuck...
[Maybe doing the wash was fun!? All spinny and sudsy and... fuck.]
When do I put the thing in?
[His jacket was, once again, trailing on the floor in a puddle of slime and soap.]
no subject
Now! Dammit! Thrown it in now!
[He motions toward the washer.]
no subject
Your instructions is fuckin' balls, motherfucker!!!
no subject
Okay, now stay and wait and don't stick any limbs in.
no subject
How fuckin' long I gotta stand here!?
no subject
[He glares at the boy. It was this troll kid's laundry to begin with. So why was he complaining now that someone was actually helping him?]