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

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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

...so.

Yeah.

That happened.

...

[Probably a bad idea to bring that up, but, uh, ok.]

[He looks honestly pissed about this.]

That grubfucker.

[Equius takes off his glasses, sets them calmly off to the side, and promptly proceeds to slam his head into his hands on the table.]

When did he even do that?!

I know.

[Eridan threw his arms up in the air.]

I mean, what the fuck, I spat it out cleanly, Eq. My fucking fang.

[He sulks.]

I'm gonna get a fucking stupid lisp, I just know it.

That's disgusting.

[EYEROLLLL]

I don't think I'll ever understand why you even bother with that fuck.

I mean, seriously.

That's a horn and a fang now, Eridan. There has to be some limit here!

No, but see. That's the thing. I didn't survive the horn, so that was cool.

[He tugs at the string around his neck.]

Plus it made a neat pendant. I'd have shoved my rifle up his nook if the shithead had left me walking around with just one horn. I mean, honestly, Eq. That'd look fucking retarded.

But you know what looks even more retarded? Wearing a third horn around your neck!

Don't diss the horn. The horn has feelings. What has the horn ever done to you?

Eridan. Eridan. Here.

[He points to his own head.]

This is where horns go. Notice that there's two of them. Nice, symmetrical, relatively normal.

[He then points to his chest.]

This is where necklaces go. Necklaces. Made of metal or glass. And not, you know, SEVERED FUCKING HORNS.

I don't care what you say, it's morbid and gross and makes a literally horrible accessory.

Also it produces this weird freaky bump in your chest where your shirts kind of wear thin from the pointy parts.

And that's weird.

[Blinking slowly, he's paying so much attention! He's nodding along! And then...]

...you keep track of the state of my shirts?

No!

...

[Yes.]

It's kind of hard not to notice when there are little threads poking up right above your symbol!

Are there?

[Excuse him while he looks down and oh, yeah. There are! Look at them pokey holes. Excuse him while he picks at them for a moment. His claws still look very worn, but it's the jagged nightmare than they were, when he arrived.]

Mmmhm.

[Gurl.]

Just for the record, I'm not patching you shirts with holes made from that.

Or making you new ones to replace them.

Or letting you try again at making your own.

[Blink. Blink. Heeeeeeeeeeadtilt.]

So you want me shirtless?

[And miraculously, it's not even a come-on. We're talking genuine, 100% sincere curiosity here.]

I want you not wearing that horn around your neck.

If shirtless is the way to make that happen, then so be it.

[sticking to his stance]

But.

[A frown. And then Eridan takes off the jacket and the scarf, followed by the shirt. Behold a skinny, half bruised dolt. And that pendant.]

I can still wear the pendant even if I don't wear a shirt?

[See?]

And then you're going to be walking around with no shirt on and people looking at the freaky-ass horn, your own horn, hanging from your chest.

It seems no one but me has noticed.

That's going to change, obviously.

[ :I ]

[Shrug.]

I don't really care what other people think.

[A sulk.]

It's my horn.

See how long that lasts.

Why?

[You're talking about things that require processing more than one overly simplified emotion at the time and he doesn't have the spoons. Or the sanity.]

[Most dickish shrug ever.]

['kay. He's just. Gonna sit here. Shirtless. Hunched over. And absently picking on a scab. 'S COOL.]

[Reaches over and grabs that hand picking at that scab.]

What did I tell you about letting skin heal?

...if I don't pick at it, it won't scar?

Good.

Honestly, your self-control abilities confuse me, Eridan.

[Flinch.]

I'm sorry.

(no subject)

geometry - 2013-05-23 04:05 (UTC) - Expand

chronomancer - 2013-05-23 04:06 (UTC) - Expand

geometry - 2013-05-26 03:28 (UTC) - Expand

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geometry - 2013-06-02 17:35 (UTC) - Expand