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
[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