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
I remembers when all you weren't at havin' one of them fuckers.
[Gamzee motions to one of Eridan's arms with a jerk of his head. It was almost certain that neither of them wanted to elaborate on what had actually happened when Eridan hadn't an arm. Mostly because one or more of the persons involved couldn't actually recall. Some things were better left hazy.]
...It is?
[Oh, lord. Why this? Granted, it was fortunate enough that the jacket Kanaya had sewn for him was black, but the thing had been doused in blood, and one whiff of the thing sent an iron, rotten scent straight into the airways.]
Double motherfuck.
no subject
Feels like ages ago, huh?
[He grinned at Gamzee's reaction on the news of blood though.]
Well, it is unless you're a fastidious cleaning machine who's perfected the method after witnessing the horrors of rotten blood and brain matter mixed with maggots.
[Eyebrow.]
I don't suppose you want to buy the secret recipe.
no subject
You know I be all about that shit, motherfucker. What be the fuckin' retail on a hot commodity such like what's fucking that all is?
no subject
[And someone here really needs to kill shit before he goes around killing people.]
no subject
[Oh, for fuck's sake, who the fuck cared!!!]
You all drive a hard motherfuckin' bargain.
[His lips and teeth lifted into a slanted, grisly grin. He could almost feel the--]
Ah, fuck!!!
[Well, the second machine, which had been steadily pouring a stream of boiling water over its edges, had decided to start shaking violently. Steam was now hissing and spurting from underneath the cover like a caged beast, making it rattle and signaling certain impending doom.]
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, not again!!!
no subject
[A hand reached out to grab Gamzee by the elbow.]
Now.
[Have a forceful jank, heading for the exit.]
no subject
[In Eridan's hold, Gamzee writhed and flailed, waving his jacket up and down to make a scene.]
My pie, though!!!
no subject
[Not budging. Eridan has no intention of dying via boiled water thanks to Gamzee.]
no subject
Little guy all was up to be baked and ain't fuckin' even was to be seeing his motherfuckin' potential, bro!
[Well, he certainly sounded like he'd been able to get a hit-bite off of the slime before being dragged away from it like a star-crossed lover. Gamzee wrestled his arm free, sighing irritably and contemplating the survival rate of venturing back in to retrieve his fallen brother.]
[BANG!!!]
[...]
...He was a good pie.
no subject
He was a brave, excellent pie.
no subject
no subject
[Gamzee found his target and in retaliation, Eridan smacked his back, squirming back and putting distance between them.]
The fuck was that for!
no subject
[He turned around, shrugging his shoulders and lifting his hands up apologetically.]
Gotta all make the fuck do with what all a brother motherfuckin' have.
no subject
[Eridan is not even bothering to complain anymore.]
what is a punching back we just don't know
Ain't no fuckin' thing, brother.
FOOL! It's punching bag's noble (pie) tin soldier brother. Duh.
...Gamzee.
[Don't try his patience, little troll, it's severely depleted where you are concerned.]
no subject
What!?
[Well, that came out a little more irritated than he would have wished.]
...What?
no subject
Pie or washing, bro, which one do you want to tackle first?
idk what icon this is i hit random so here you go
[He growled in exasperation, throwing his arms up. He is never touching soap again for the rest of his miserable life.]
I'm immortalizing it just cause I'm an asshole.
[Eridan gives Gamzee an odd look.]
What?
WHY ALWAYS THE PORN ICONS
Just.
No more.
Mother fucking.
Washing.
BECAUSE YOU'VE ALWAYS GOT PORN IN YOUR MIND.
Okay.
[Hey, look. Not everything has to be a fucking battle around here.]