Eridan Ampora ♒ chronicAugustus (
chronomancer) wrote in
towerofanimus2013-02-02 09:16 pm
[CLOSED/OPEN] No words can heal a broken heart
Characters: [AU1] Eridan Ampora & [AU1] Equius Zahhak; Eridan Ampora and YOU.
Setting: Meadow floor (closed/backdated to the January event), Floor 64 (open/current)
Format: Starting with action but I'll match you.
Summary: Two logs for the price of one, lmao so I don't flood the comm: closing up aged up shenanigans, Equius is displeased and Eridan is about to learn just how much. Also back in real time, Eridan finds a deliciously tempting slice of home.
Warnings: Violence and swearing for the Equius log. Eridan being actually honest and pathetic and stupid, for the open one.
[Closed: Meadow floor.]
[He wasn't tired so much as he was trying to hibernate. He wasn't entirely sure trolls, undead or otherwise, actually did the whole hibernation shtick, but he could at least try. Save up his energy. Make his last feeding last. He was pretty sure things didn't really work that way but he was lazy and this was a good enough excuse. So there he is, as long as he is, lying on his back and sunbathing in the meadow without a care in the world.
Not that he didn't have cares. He had a lot of them, actually. But if he started thinking about all of them he'd probably implode. Or go on a rampage. Or both. Really, it was for the best of everyone involved, if he just laid there, soaking up sunlight and carefully thinking of nothing in particular.]
[Open: Desert floor.]
[It's so familiar it hurts, really. The heat, the sand, the occasional blast of wind. It's probably a bad idea to head out, and given the last few terrible ideas he's indulged lately, mostly as a result of the experiment last month, Eridan resists the urge to go.
But he wants to, dear god, he wants to so bad.
He's curled up on the sandy floor, barely two steps off the staircase, staring aimlessly at the distance and quietly drowning in nostalgia. He's never really stopped to sit down and miss life before the Game... but now he does and the wave of homesickness is almost entirely too much to handle.]
Setting: Meadow floor (closed/backdated to the January event), Floor 64 (open/current)
Format: Starting with action but I'll match you.
Summary: Two logs for the price of one, lmao so I don't flood the comm: closing up aged up shenanigans, Equius is displeased and Eridan is about to learn just how much. Also back in real time, Eridan finds a deliciously tempting slice of home.
Warnings: Violence and swearing for the Equius log. Eridan being actually honest and pathetic and stupid, for the open one.
[Closed: Meadow floor.]
[He wasn't tired so much as he was trying to hibernate. He wasn't entirely sure trolls, undead or otherwise, actually did the whole hibernation shtick, but he could at least try. Save up his energy. Make his last feeding last. He was pretty sure things didn't really work that way but he was lazy and this was a good enough excuse. So there he is, as long as he is, lying on his back and sunbathing in the meadow without a care in the world.
Not that he didn't have cares. He had a lot of them, actually. But if he started thinking about all of them he'd probably implode. Or go on a rampage. Or both. Really, it was for the best of everyone involved, if he just laid there, soaking up sunlight and carefully thinking of nothing in particular.]
[Open: Desert floor.]
[It's so familiar it hurts, really. The heat, the sand, the occasional blast of wind. It's probably a bad idea to head out, and given the last few terrible ideas he's indulged lately, mostly as a result of the experiment last month, Eridan resists the urge to go.
But he wants to, dear god, he wants to so bad.
He's curled up on the sandy floor, barely two steps off the staircase, staring aimlessly at the distance and quietly drowning in nostalgia. He's never really stopped to sit down and miss life before the Game... but now he does and the wave of homesickness is almost entirely too much to handle.]

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Well, the fucking sand won't munch itself.
[Nor will the nooks lick themselves, he doesn't add. Because he's being polite. Honest.]
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[The little voice in the back of his head is telling him to quit now, but the flash of his fangs suggests otherwise. Gotta have that last word.]
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[Eridan's mock prim voice is a terrible idea and he knows it. He gives Karkat an almost demure look.]
So I don't have a problem switching as necessary.
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It makes his skin crawl.]
Of course you are.
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on top of him.]You make it sound like it's a bad thing.
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I don't make it sound like anything.
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[Eridan chuckles, and then tugs a little harder, more like teasing and less like actual aggression. He just wants to give you a faceful of sand, Karkat, is that so wrong.]
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[Karkat starts to lose his balance and catches himself by flailing one arm. Eridan is rewarded by a shift of the cerulean's posture, so that his foot lodges itself firmly between the other troll's legs for his trouble.]
--maybe everything is a bad idea.
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I'm trying to avoid bad ideas.
[Except he's sinking his claws into Karkat's thighs, though not yet hard enough to pass through cloth and score on skin.]
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You have a neon sign painted across your face attracting bad ideas.
[He doesn't kick him again, nor does he pull his hands from his pockets, which had balled into fists. He just keeps his posture as straight as possible, waiting for Eridan to realize that he's clinging to his leg.
He's also keeping a close watch on that mouth of his, because he doesn't trust him.]
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Pay much attention to my face, hon?
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[When he realizes Eridan isn't letting go, in addition to baring those fangs of his, he shakes his leg a little -- as if he were trying to kick off an annoying dog.]
Not to mention I'll have to make an extra laundry run, now that you've rub yourself all over my leg.
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You say the sweetest things, Vantas.
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You festering load of boiling shit--!
[He roars and flails briefly before he gains composure and kicks out considerably harder at Eridan, trying to either throw him off or hurt him enough that he'll want to let go.]
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Well that, and because as Karkat falls, one of Eridan's hands reaches out for his hair, tugging him closer so he can slam their mouths together. Fuck the mindgames and the snarking and the bitching and the fucking spades everywhere.]
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He doesn't really want to be anywhere near those fangs when he can't get away, but pride overrides common sense as he sinks his spider-like fangs into the first piece of lip or tongue he can reach, attempting to grab at Eridan's horn to yank backward for maximum pain.
Its all he can really do -- struggling in the sand is not only to cover him more in the element, but also cause him to actively bury himself into a hole, thanks to Eridan's fat ass.]
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Eridan snarls a whine at the combination of rough horn pulling and fangs tearing at his lip, retaliating by sinking his claws into the nearest bits of Karkat he can find and shoving a knee and grinding it roughly up between Karkat's legs.
Motherfucking payback time, asshole.]
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God help Eridan when Karkat remembers he's a psychic.]
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He reaches for Eridan's wrists to try and throw him aside. He's fairly certain he feels blood dripping off his lips, but he can't tell who's it is.]
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Fuck, I'd been meaning to do that for ages.
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Of course you have.
[He almost sounds smug, but its hard to be smug when you're so uncomfortable.]
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Always did think I'd be dead by this point.
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You would be, except you cheated, Troll Edward Cullen.
[He doesn't bother to remind Eridan that Karkat himself has been a dead troll walking for the better part of two years. His sudden neutral expression gives a good hint at it, though.]
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[Eridan shrugs very carefully.]
Kind of hoping to avoid that fate, really. It was fucking disgusting.
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rolls back to this after con death
/gathers up in arms
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