towerofanimus | Midsummer Bash

Characters: Lancer, the people he invited to the party, and everyone else who wants to stumble in
Setting: Floor 25, July 5, afternoon
Format: Open
Summary: Lancer throws a party for midsummer, since the Tower obviously needs a breather.
Warnings: None so far.

[To be honest, Lancer wanted to have the party in the evening, sometime around twilight. That would have been the most romantic time for it. Unfortunately, when in the Tower, one had to account for things like monsters. As a result, he had to hold it during the afternoon. But it wasn't too bad of a compromise.]

[This was, of course, a more simple affair than Diarmuid's birthday. For food, he had hauled a couple of tables up here and lined the table with dinner food. The centerpiece was a cake which had a heart drawn on it in red frosting. In one corner of the meadow, he had used some boxes and tarp to make some sort of booth where people could hide from the sun (and steal kisses off of each other). In the center of the meadow, he had piled a large stack of wood, perfect for lighting a bonfire by the party's end. The structures had all been surrounded with wreaths made from the meadow's flowers.]

[As soon as he's done with the setup, Lancer will sit down next to the firewood pile, waiting for people to come.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[HOW MANY TIMES DOES HE HAVE TO REPEAT HIMSELF!? Ugh. Not that... Gamzee really has any problem repeating himself, thanks to the thing he's currently asking to be retrieved. To be perfectly honest, the chip did a terrific job of quelling his impatience, and if it weren't for the fact that it was installed and originated from the Tower itself, it might be a good aid in keeping him in line. However, with everything happening around this place, having a piece of it implanted in him was asking for certain misfortune. He needed it out as quickly as possible.]

Don't think you be all able to retrieve what fuckin' ghouls be housed motherfuckin' therein what ain't being so fucking tangible. A brother can get his live on with those.

[He reached for Richtofen's hand, pulling it up to eye-level and placing the man's fingertips against the white of Gamzee's forehead. He applied pressure, running them over the (now quite thin) horizontal scar there. Somewhere beneath the surface of his skin was a small, square anomaly. When Richtofen's fingers pressed down against it, there was a hiss, and Gamzee jerked back. Shit was fucking painful.]

[Richtofen's first instinct when he's grabbed is to try and pull away. He forces himself to settle down, though, when he catches sight of the scar on Gamzee's forehead that his hand is now being forced toward. It's hard to feel the little square thing through his glove, but it's apparent that that's definitely not a piece of his skull under there.

As soon as he feels it, he bites his lip to stifle a gasp. He just wants to... to rip through the thin skin of Gamzee's forehead here and now, to tear into him and see what alien brains are like--

And, all too quickly, Gamzee has pulled away. Richtofen shifts where he sits and yanks his arm back, rubbing over his wrist where he was touched.]

Ahh, that's- [He stops himself and swallows. Professional. He has to stay professional.] Ahem. That is certainly not supposed to be in there. I will remove it at your earliest convenience.

No shit.

[Gamzee huffed immaturely, shoving a clawed finger up one nostril. He'd tried in vain to retrieve the chip using these methods, but this time, he was just fishing for an obstruction a little nearer.]

My earliest motherfuckin' convenience be right the fuck now, motherfucker.

[Richtofen doesn't even flinch. He spent an inordinate amount of time on his home world around three other men who were all covered in rotting bits of zombie at any given time, two of whom were far more disgusting than Gamzee. The most disgusting one was actually quite charming (in his eyes, at least).

But he doesn't dwell on Gamzee's gross behavior. He's stuck thinking about that thing in his head. He so wants to take him up on that offer - hell, he has a knife, he can do this low-budget - but he has to hold back. He's got something planned with Allelujah soon, and he can't risk anything going awry.

Waiting might just make this whole thing sweeter.]

Um. [He fists his hands in the material of his pants. The leather of his gloves squeak.] About that. I am already booked for this weekend, you see... Besides, I am sure these partygoers won't take too kindly to getting purple blood in their punch.

[The corner of his mouth cocks up into a smirk. It would be fun, no doubt, but if someone misunderstood and attacked him to get him off of Gamzee, he might die again. He's getting so tired of that.]

[Gamzee's eyes flick to the source of the low squeaking - Richtofen's gloves against the fabric of his pants - then back up to the man's face. He ran his tongue over his dirty fangs, closing the space in between them and shooting the doctor a look.]

I ain't much givin' a shit's fucking tit on what all these motherfuckers be takin' fucking kindly to.

[He pulled his finger from his nose.]

Can't you make yourself unbooked!?

[Gamzee has a point, and it is tempting. He's been wanting to get his hands inside of a troll's rainbow-colored guts since he first laid eyes on one. Maybe he can grab Allelujah another time. His grudge will still be as strong, he's sure. He doesn't break eye contact with Gamzee, keeps his gaze locked on those yellow sclera and black irises for what feels like an eternity, but-

No.

No, he's not going to do this. He's going to stick to his plans, not bend his whims to suit Gamzee's. He wants to see the little bastard squirm, anyway.]

Sorry. [He rolls his shoulders in a shrug.] I am a busy man. You will have to make an appointment.

[Gamzee stared a long while at the human before him, boring imaginary holes into Richtofen's skull with the force of his glare. He had half a mind to run to the lavatories and claw the damn thing out with his own jagged nails. However, the extra common sense said damn thing provided him with suggested that that might be an endeavor that did not end favorably for him. More simply, he would probably die.]

Listen, nookwhiff.

[He wasn't allowed to get properly angry, but there was a difference between flying off the handle and being firm.]

I all wasn't motherfucking blind to what barkbeast eyes you all was makin' up at my cardio elixirs a few fuckin' moons ago. Piss-ass mother fucking drunk, but not blind. You want your bony phalanges up in these entrails, and that ain't much a fuckin' problem with my ass. Tear up them fuckers, rip 'em all out and do the dirty with 'em if that all what be gettin' your grimy jollies off, long as you put 'em back proper so I all can be gettin' my wake on after.

[This was a stipulation he had to make, because he himself had gotten carried away with fun times once, and had let another die as a result. Whoops.]

But you make this motherfucker wait any much longer than all what's I gotta, and you ain't gonna be touchin' no inch of my hide, you feel me? I ain't no prized possession, but if you all got the jonesies to get up in my business, my business be what you gonna mother fucking forsake if all you slight me. BE YOU ALL GETTING YOUR MOTHER FUCKING UNDERSTAND ON IN ME, MOTHERFUCKER!?

[What an absolutely reprehensible person. In the year and four months he's been here, Richtofen has not seen Gamzee exhibit a single admirable trait. He's crude, he speaks in a ridiculous manner, and every second Richtofen's around him, he feels the overwhelming need to beat his skull in with the butt of his gun.

But he can't bring himself to walk away from an opportunity to slice him open.

He prods at the inside of his cheek with his tongue and flicks his eyes up and down Gamzee's body. Would his anatomy look the same, but purple? Would he have an entirely different spread of organs? Would he be comprised of things Richtofen can't even imagine? He'd have access to all of it, and he wouldn't even have to bother doing it against Gamzee's will.

It's really, really ideal, but now that Gamzee has screamed in his face, he can't give in that easily. He just can't.]

I'm sorry, what? [He sticks his pinky in his ear and twists it around.] I sometimes have trouble understanding the language Petulant Brat.

You listen.

[Richtofen leans closer, practically forehead-to-forehead with Gamzee now, so that he can speak in a snarl.]

I do not take kindly to annoying little children trying to tell me what to do. I am a well-practiced doctor, und I can tell you that that thing? [He rests the tip of his finger a hair's breadth away from Gamzee's scar.] Needs to be removed very carefully. You can try to get someone else to do it, but I have not yet seen a qualified surgeon in this Tower who isn't Jason. One wrong movement und you will not be 'getting your wake on' until that rat bastard puts you back together again.

I will do it for you, on the condition that you stop making demands of me like a spoiled teenager. Do you understand that?

[He gives the microchip a nice, hard poke.]

Midsummer Bash

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