[Open] If I go crazy then will you still call me Superman...?

[chronomancer]

Characters: Eridan and YOU!
Setting: Room 1-10, showers, cafeteria, anywhere you want.
Format: Starting with Action, I'll match you.
Summary: Eridan finds himself back in the Tower after an extended absence. This wouldn't be so bad if he weren't currently very much shithive maggots and trying desperately to keep a lid on it. Please excuse the jumpy, nervous wreck, he swears he's trying not to murder anyone.
Warnings: Eridan's erratic behavior, lots of F-clusterbombs and potential murder if startled too hard.

Room 1-10

[The elusive fourth inhabitant of the room is finally back! You can tell because there's a person-shaped lump under the covers of his bed and a quiet chant of "oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck" echoing from the depths. Eridan is back, and this would be amazing if it weren't for the fact he's going through a slow-mo murderous meltdown.

Goddammit, Tower, he was almost done murdering himself!

Approach with caution. Or don't! Hilarity will ensue, since he doesn't have a weapon at hand. Yet.]

Bathroom.

[He looks disgusting. He kind of feels disgusting, too. After escaping his room with most of his sanity intact, Eridan sneaked about to get some necessary supplies and went about making himself vaguely presentable. That's why he's freshly showered - so freshly showered, his clothes are sticking to him since he's pretty dampstill - and trying his best to trim his hair into an acceptable length again. Also trying to salvage his claws with a file. They're kind of brittle and splintered, but at least they're not caked in jade blood anymore. That's always a plus.

Ignore the gun and the shovel within arms reach, someone is extremely jumpy right now.]

Cafeteria.

[Having made sure he doesn't look like a hobo - just mostly half starved and twitchy like a chihuahua after a close experience with NY traffic - Eridan gives in to the fact his insides are halfway through digesting themselves and inches his way into the cafeteria. He's trying really hard to go unnoticed, head tucked between his shoulders and eyes avoiding most people. Definitely not the most inviting of postures, but he can't help it. He's seated in a corner, all by himself, and spending as much time eating as he's looking nervously around the room. Without the sunglasses you can really see how jittery the eye movement really is.

Again, please ignore the shovel and the gun within easy reach, it's not like he's gonna shoot anyone or anything.

Hahaha.

...oh god.]

Anywhere.

[After a good meal, Eridan considers sneaking back to his room and hiding away until the circus in his head is over. On the other hand, he should really check out if there have been any changes in the tower - of course they've been, there always are - and maybe he'll be lucky enough to not run into anyone while he makes his way up the stairs.

That's totally a thing that'd happen, right?

...right?

Oh god, he's gonna get killed. Or worse.]

Comments

Bathroom.

[hystericull]

[Just because fang-brushing is a newly-instated rule, doesn't mean Gamzee has to like it. In fact, he's been standing at the sink dully, staring from the loaded-up toothbrush to the mirror in front of him and back with a look of distant disdain.]

[Until he hears snipping from a few sinks down. At that moment, the toothbrush is being raised to his foul, rancid mouth. The minty paste almost makes it to a single yellow fang - hope is almost within reach - until his eyes flick over to the wretched fool causing such a ruckus so early in the morning.]

[Motherfucker.]

[All hope for fresh breath is lost. The toothbrush clatters down into the bowl of the sink, flopping fangpaste everywhere, none of which is inside Gamzee's mouth. With zero reaction time, the lanky, unbrushed troll is flashstepping across tile, merely a whir of shadow, before colliding with the offensive hair-snipper.]

[And by colliding, I mean grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, hoisting him up, and shaking him more violently than a vending machine that's eaten your last fifty fucking cents.]

[chronomancer]

[The shriek is instantaneous. It's loud, shrill and feral, also followed by a swipe of the scissors in Eridan's hands, aiming for Gamzee's arms, rather than his face.

After a moment, however, Eridan lets go of the scissors and starts squirming instead, since he's recognized Gamzee and he's pretty sure he doesn't want Gamzee dead.

Mostly.

Usually.

He thinks.]

...hi.

[hystericull]

[The scissors slice a few ribbons off of Gamzee's arms, sending droplets and rivulets of dark purple across the gray skin there. He pays them no mind, however, since he was more or less expecting a violent reaction. It's also unsurprising that he hears the metallic clang of the same shears on the floor a moment later. All of this is delayed, though, because he's too focused on the realness of fabric in his fingers, and the weight of a body in his hands, and most of all, the heat of anger building up in his chest.]

[There was something he hadn't felt in a while - not since the brief flicker that had sparked during his encounter with Feferi. That stupid, sheepish, fucking "hi" that squeaked out between rattles was putrid enough to send him over the edge, much to the protest of the center of his forehead, which gave an aura of alert that he was too furious to give the time of day.]

SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!

[It felt so good, screaming like that. He hadn't screamed in forever. It sent a splitting headache straight through his skull. It made his jaw jerk and his fingers tremble, but he kept going. Until Eridan was thrown against the wall, until those bony knuckles of his were raised and slammed across the thick of Eridan's jaw. Then, he stopped, because his face was all twisted like the muscles had been pulled taught, and his limbs were jerking and unresponsive. It made him stumble backwards, made him fall on his ass.]

[It hurt to get angry, but it was a triumph enough that he was even able to throw a punch.]

[chronomancer]

[The first reaction was anger, and it flared through his veins like fire. Then came the panic, almost instantly, and it smothered the anger for long enough that Eridan could flinch back from the shout. He was a little too focused on his own issues - mainly, the rising screech in the back of his head and the sudden, burning urge to murder a motherfucker that he didn't really notice anything odd about Gamzee.

The shaking and the slamming in the wall only served to make him whine and protest, all the while trying to drown out the urge to retaliate. It was the punch that really did it though. Gamzee's fist shoved Eridan's face into the wall, horns clattering loudly and lip splitting and bleeding freely. And as he slid down the wall, a loud, angry growl built up in his throat.]

Makara.

[hystericull]

[Sorry, were you hoping for a fight? Now that he has you all riled up, Eridan, Gamzee's going to submit himself to the calming sedative that is hidden behind the fugly scar on his throbbing forehead. His face twitches, his eyes flick back and forth, eventually settling on the bloody jade stump he'd just assaulted. Still there. He was still there.]

[He didn't say anything more, not yet. Instead, he tried mocking the growl that was given to him, although his attempt was feeble at best. What a fearsome warrior Gamzee had become. If he wasn't so calmed down right now, it would make him sick.]

1/???

[chronomancer]

I'm going to--

[chronomancer]

[No, no, no, this isn't how it works.]

[chronomancer]

[This isn't how it works.]

[chronomancer]

[Calm down, chill out, it's okay. It's just Gamzee.]

[chronomancer]

[Who might or might not have broken your jaw just now--]

[chronomancer]

[AND THAT'S WHY WE'RE GONNA STRANGLE HIM WITH HIS OWN FUCKING INTEST---]

[chronomancer]

[Okay, no.]

[chronomancer]

[Deep breaths.]

[chronomancer]

[No murderous rages.]

[chronomancer]

[No maiming either.]

[chronomancer]

[Just... chilling out. Not hurting anyone.]

[chronomancer]

[NOT EVEN FUCKING CLOWNS WITH A DEATH WISH.]

[chronomancer]

[Especially not clowns. We actually like clowns a lot!]

[chronomancer]

[A whole lot, really. That's how much we like the clown. We're the ones who're always down with the clown.]

[chronomancer]

[So no killing the clown.]

[chronomancer]

[Even if the fucking nooklicking, bulgesucking bitch broke our jaw.]

[chronomancer]

[We probably deserved it, anyway.]

DONE.

[chronomancer]

[We always do.]

...sorry.

[hystericull]

[He's spent. Gamzee stares ahead of him for a long time, gaze focusing and unfocusing on Eridan, waiting for him to disappear, waiting for this to be a dream, or a drunken stupor, or a sopor hallucination. It's happened before, it could easily happen again.]

[However, the boy doesn't fade with time, or with eye-rubbings, or with prods of Gamzee's foot. For the apology, Eridan gets a nice wad of spit spat right at him. If he has to hear that word again, he'll try to work up another fury. No promises on the potency of it, though.]

[It was almost comical how long Gamzee was staring wordlessly. He didn't really have any words to say, really. He'd never really thought about it. He honestly didn't think Eridan would come back this time, even though he hadn't found a grave for him in the graveyard like he had Karkat.]

Heard that shit before.

[chronomancer]

[For a moment, it's almost like he's going to fly off the handle again, but the reaction is more muted this time. Faster to flinch, Eridan sort of slumps down against the wall, folding up his limbs into a neat ball and just absently rubbing the spit off his face.]

...yeah.