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
[Gamzee suddenly lifted his head up, standing on his tiptoes and peering over the open lid. He'd had his pie on there. It hadn't spilled, but it did slide down awkwardly between the lid and control panel. What the fuck was he thinking? Looking inside this piece of crap wasn't going to help him figure out how it worked any more than sitting around gnawing his own arm off would.]
[He was already beyond frustrated. That was his first pie of the day, sitting there untouched. Cranky was an understatement.]
The fuck you all up in my motherfucking business at, anyway!? Want a brother to be all making some wicked room in his soiled pile so he can be up to cram a motherfucker in the permanent press?
[The thought of a mangled cerulean-blood calmed him down a little. Or, at least distracted him favorably for the time being.]
no subject
[He shrugs, but he makes a face that very clearly says that he's not interested in dying again. Its enough to make him take his hand out of his pocket and for him to close his body language a little.]
Came down here to press the jacket, actually, found you...and your friend over there instead.
[He nods over to the pie while wrinkling his nose a little.]
no subject
Never in the fucking ablutin' machines, though, bro.
[Come on, didn't you want to take these washing machines for a spin, Karkat? No? Ah, well. Maybe next time. Gamzee follows his gaze over to the tin of slime, and he shuts the top to the washer.]
Ahhhh, say no mother fucking more, yo. Come to get the harshest of g's on at a motherfucker's choice mucilage, is what all you was really motherfuckin' wantin'.
no subject
You wanna run that by me again? Ignoring the fact that I just told you what I came here to do, I guess.
no subject
[He gives a knowing smile, picking up the pie tin and spinning it around on his fingers.]
You be jonesin' all to be taking a mother fucking trip, ain't you, my most bluest of fake best friends?
no subject
No, I ain't. In fact, the only trip I'm looking to take is a trip to the right side of sanity. Which would be the opposite of what pie-scarfing would do. Get me?
that was only 7 ticks i'm disappoint
Au motherfuckin' contraire, my little goody-two-nubs. A brother be fuckin' all findin' out most recently what the magic green globs be settin' a pan on the straight-and-narrow what's bein' a little more straighter and narrower than what it all would be at motherfuckin' goin' without.
[A friendly, docile grin, and he's stepping a little closer.]
How you gonna know for reals if all you ain't never gonna motherfuckin' get your try on, my brother?
oh oops i totally wasnt even counting
You know, I'm usually the first asshole to play the insanity card when it comes to this shitbox, but come on Makara. You don't eat the slime. Everyone knows that.
[He gives him a once-over. Well, at least he doesn't reek like barkbeast pee anymore.]
no subject
[He chuckled, closing the gap between them and bumping a bony shoulder against Karkat's.]
...your fuckin' concern at me be something I'm all up to have my wicked appreciations on in...
[Nudge, nudge.]
But you gotta all be motherfucking wondering who all went up to lay such a fun-snatchy rule down like what's that all is, hmm? Who's the motherfucker what went all to decide the good foods from the motherfuckin' bad?
I'm thinking that motherfucker all couldn't be getting them all right all the fuckin' time.
I TOLD YOU I WOULD COME BACK TO THIS HERE I AM
Not to say he wasn't a little concerned, but not entirely for Gamzee's wellbeing. There was no real reason for that.]
I don't know if I'd disagree with this particular thing.
[Then again, it kept Gamzee from being completely shithive, so maybe it wasn't really all that terrible for the moment. For him. Karkat isn't in a hurry to indulge himself. He likes his pan where it is.]
Did you just get bored one day, or what?
I AM SO PROUD I COULD CRY
[Ahh, Karkat. He'll get you on the slime eventually. Resistance is futile. He laughed heartily at the question.]
You tellin' me you ain't never got your motherfuckin' curiousness up and on at how that goopity glop be motherfuckin' dancin' its tasties on your sustenance stalk?
dont cry that's gross
...yes. That is exactly what I'm telling you.
[Of course, now that he's mentioned it, Karkat is thinking about it. How can he even stomach that stuff? It was meant to be a sedative, not a meal. It can't possibly taste good. And its messy. And its consistency is probably totally gross.
Fuck, he's putting too much thought into this.]
no subject
Ain't no use in fuckin' lying at me, motherfucker.
[The grin was still all over hin. Gamzee moved his arm just a little, situating the pie directly in front of Karkat's face. Mmm, the smell of fresh sopor in the morning.]
You knows all fucking tossin' back some slime be much more motherfuckin' fun than all what's pressin' some stupid jacket's gonna be, yeah?
Just a fuckin' dip. You ain't allowed to bash nothin' what you ain't never got a taste on of, little dude.
[The deranged side of him figured a few good mouthfuls would be enough to get Karkat blown, if the kid was being honest when he said he'd never tried it before. Gamzee, however, would need a few pies to get to that level, but he'd make due with what was left over. ...Provided Karkat didn't go for the gold and try to scarf the whole thing.]