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
[Only when that brother or bitch happens to have massive potential for hurtin' if he doesn't comply.]
But I have to do this anyway.
[So, y'know, if you could just casually get out of here and let him have free reign of the laundry room for a while, that would be cool. Someone has to clean up after your tantrum...]
no subject
And I gotta do this, motherfucker! You gonna motherfuckin' keep frothing all that noise useless at a brother, or you gonna step the fuck off before you get to gettin' your fucking self made out to be all fucking like one of them dudes here!?
[Pointing at the poor, dented machines, now.]
no subject
[... or don't.]
You won't be able to do anything if the machines are all broken, Gamzee.
[They'll still be dented.
And maybe covered in a thin layer of yellowblood swill.But they will work.]random icon gooo
THEY AIN'T ALL FUCKING BROKE!
Or, fuck.
Maybe they all fuckin' are.
[Equius had said the machines were damaged. All of them? That would put his plan to try every one utility he found one that worked straight out.]
Quit makin' fuckin' useless words from that quiverin' pissy motherfuckin' maw yours and get fixing at this shit up, then! Fuckin' fuck this shit, yo. Ain't got no business doing such frivolous motherfuckin' chores in the first motherfucking place.
woohoo. i random icon'd too but it ended up being relevant
[Which promptly hit him with the force of a freight train.]
[He staggered a bit, grabbing against the wall and cursing under his breath. A moment later he actually began to get to work on the damn things...]
[...they're all covered in water. All of them. Every single nook and cranny has been flooded.]
[Makara.]
And... what state were they in when you got here?
LMAO UTILITY WTF in my last tag it was supposed to be "until" autocorrect please no
I JUST MOTHERFUCKING TOL--
[Quiet, quiet the fuck down. Focus on something else. Equius. Those stupid, unbroken horns of his. How easy it was for Gamzee to grab on to those pointed heads and wrench them until they cracked from their skull, flooding the room with disgusting yellow. It was a nice memory - one he was dying to relive. Fuck, was he bad at self-pacification.]
[Casually, Gamzee closed the distance between them, curling his icy fingers around one of those arrowhead horns.]
They were all in the state of "shut the fuck up, and FIX THIS MOTHERFUCKING PIECE OF SHIT ALL BEFORE I GOTTA BE WASHING FUCKIN' SOME MORE MOTHERFUCKING BLOOD UP OUTTA MY CLOTHES!"
phone tagging in a thread with /me/? for shame.
[The answer was almost mechanical, just to pacify him enough to get his hand off those horns. At that moment, Equius' mind was torn between being completely scared and being completely done with Gamzee's bullshit. In hindsight, he probably should have seen that one coming; a simple question provoked a violent answer, and one that involved grabbing his horn, to boot. Why did he have to be stuck in a laundry room with Gamzee Makara? Couldn't it have been someone else?]
[And did it really, really have to be him to be the one to tell Makara that the machines couldn't be fixed?]
...Look, every single one of them has had detergent and water seeping in for god-knows-how-long. I need to take them all apart to clean each part individually, and then put it back together. It's not going to be done in just a half an hour!
no subject
[They were dry when he got here. If the water is what was making them defunct, then it was his fault. If it was his fault, then that means another fucking thing his useless ass couldn't do for his mother fucking self.]
[That was not what he wanted to hear.]
[Wordlessly, he threw that horn from his grip, now failing miserably to hold back the growing desire to wedge his foot as hard as he could between Equius' ribs. Whether or not his kick connected with said ribs was irrelevant, for Gamzee soon returned to bashing the shit out of the machine next to the one being inspected.]
[Once, twice, three times, four times, again, again, again he drove his foot against the belly of the washer, until the metal warped and cracked and bent, tearing at the canvas and rubber of his sneaker and catching on the fraying hem of his pant leg.]
[I'm sorry, Equius. Apparently today you are a mechanic and also a grubsitter.]
no subject