towerofanimus | 017 ♑ [siebzehnte honk]

Entry tags:

017 ♑ [siebzehnte honk]

Figuren: Gamzee und Richtofen
Rahmen: 26. Stock - Die Leichenhalle
Format: Aktion
Übersicht: Der Außerirdischer hat ein Spielrendezvous mit der Doktor.
Mahnungen: Warnings for extreme gore and profanity, in English because this part is important!

[After finally managing to squeeze his way into Richtofen's enormously busy schedule, Gamzee (for once in his entire life) is prompt and punctual, arriving on the twenty-sixth floor at the exact time they had specified. It was late - if the inhabitants of this tower weren't all neurotic busybodies, most of them would be asleep. It was fortunate, however, to do things in the wee hours of the morning. At least the people who maintained a regular sleep schedule would be out of earshot for what was about to go down.]

[Impatiently, he paced, purple sneakers squeaking against the hard, tile floor of the morgue. He'd actually never been in here before. It wouldn't hurt to peek at some of the bodies...]

[Upon pulling a few of the doors open, most of them were empty. Some of them had the distinct rumbling of monsters he was not prepared to engage (any other night would have been fine, but not when he'd already had plans to slice himself open). Pulling on one of the drawers, he was greeted with a naked, human body. Why the fuck was it covered up like some sort of fucking present!? The shits that ran this joint were fucked up. He liked it.]

[He did nothing more than poke and prod at the features of the corpse, slicing at gums and flesh just to see what it would do. The body was starting to decay, so it was easier than usual to peel the weak human flesh from its muscle. He was getting his hands dirty, now. The absorbed, pleased grin never fell from his lips as he busied himself waiting for his doctor to show.]

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[Richtofen tromps up the stairs just under fifteen minutes late. His boots make a wet squelching sound when he walks, and he leaves faint red footprints behind him. Slung over his shoulder is a lab coat covered in red-brown stains. He has a bundle of medical supplies gathered in his arms, so it's hard to see, but the blood on the front of his uniform looks much fresher.

He stops just off of the staircase when he spots Gamzee huddled over a corpse. His eyebrow quirks upward at the sight, but otherwise, he doesn't seem perturbed.]

...Oh. You are here already.

[Spoken in a way that makes it clear he never expected Gamzee to show up on time.]

[Gamzee's got his claw dug up underneath an eyeball when the shrill cadence of that messiah-forsaken voice cuts through his hear ducts. It makes him jolt back, instinctively flashstepping into the shadows cast by the storage unit, perching high up on an empty stretcher he'd pulled out earlier.]

[Golden eyes peering from the darkness, Gamzee cursed himself for being so motherfucking jumpy. Damn chip making him soft as fuck. It'll be out of his fucking head soon, at least.]

You're late, God damn motherfuckin' human.

[Things Richtofen did not expect to happen: that. The little bastard is fast as ever. He rolls his eyes and steps forward to dump the supplies onto a metal tray.]

I had to deal with one of those disgusting abominations on my way up, alien. [He casts a sideways glare at Gamzee and wipes a stray drop of blood off of his face as a point.] So impatient.

[He starts to straighten out the few things he brought with him. Scalpels; bandages and sutures; a few coils of rope; some needles; glass vials. He's not sure what will end up happening, so he made sure to come prepared.]

[A low growl rose from his throat in response to being called "alien". Not that he particularly minded the term. Anything that made a distinction between him and a human being was fine by him. It was a growl at the aggressive tone in which it was spat at him.]

Should have motherfuckin' be dealt at faster.

[It was a petulant mumble at this point, and as quickly as Gamzee had fled, he'd appeared in a shadowy flurry by where Richtofen was dropping off his instruments.]

[Gamzee's eyes wandered dully across each item as it was organized, taking stock of what Richtofen had brought along. He wasn't stupid enough to think that this procedure was going to go by without a severe amount of pain. In fact, he wasn't sure how he was going to get through it, honestly, especially since he'd given the doctor free reign on the rest of him. There wasn't really any other option, though, and if he had to barter with his guts, he'd barter with his guts.]

You gonna use all this shit?

[Richtofen tried not to jump when Gamzee suddenly appeared beside him. He succeeded with only a small twitch of his hands to show for it. It helped to picture him the way he'd soon look - spread out on a table with his head and torso sliced open, that is. It was nice. Calming.]

More or less, ja. Brain surgery is very intensive. I might even have to use some of the autopsy tools.

[He waved a hand over his shoulder, the general direction where he knew the instruments were located. Then he shrugged.]

Oh, and I did not manage to locate any anesthesia in the infirmary, sorry. [The way he practically laughed out the last word suggested he was anything but.]

I suppose you will just have to go without.

[Gamzee's face was made of stone. Truthfully, he hadn't expected the luxury of anesthesia when he'd asked this whack job to crack him open. He'd spent the entire time from then until now convincing himself that he'd be able to handle it, but even the bravest little clowns got jittery feet every now and again. Pain was something he was used to, even took pleasure in sometimes, and he always loved to dish it out. There was a microscopic twitch in Gamzee's throat as he took a swallow.]

I ain't no motherfuckin' pussy, you pinky-ass piece of trash.

[His hand reached for one of the scalpels. He was going to fucking slit this man's throat before he could even get his psychotic hands in his innards. But... then came the now-familiar rush of sedatives, and his eyes drooped a little. Absently, he wondered if he could have just punched himself in the head, or beat his skull against the wall until he knocked himself out, but that would probably be a little detrimental to the whole brain surgery thing. Not looking up from the tools, Gamzee spoke again.]

What all does I need to be, like... doing?

[He attempted to get that out in the most dominant and assertive way possible, but he was clueless, and it was fucking freezing in this place. Honestly, bashing his head against the wall didn't look so bad right about now.]

[Richtofen whipped his head to the side the second he saw Gamzee reaching for the scalpels. He went tense, ready to take action if attacked, but that moment never came.

He might have been disappointed, were he not so angry. The little shit practically begged him to do this, and now it seemed like he was having second thoughts - second thoughts that involved stabbing him with his own scalpels, apparently.

With a sneer, Richtofen snatched up Gamzee's wrist.]

Now, now. What did I say about that attitude of yours?

[He gave his wrist a squeeze and stared him down for a moment. Then, slowly but firmly, he forced Gamzee's arm to his side.]

...Lay down. There. [He nodded his head toward an autopsy table with what looked like a sink attached to one end.] Head by the faucets.

[Gamzee did not take too well to being manhandled. When those rough fingers clamped around his wrist, he jerked his arm back. It didn't get very far, though. The fucker was stronger than he'd given him credit for.]

[Instead of using his other hand to grab a fistful of scalpels and shove them as far as he could into the jugular before him, Gamzee only tensed, resisting the force of Richtofen's grip and letting out a snarl as his arm was pushed down.]

[This wasn't going to be easy. But it was for the best. He needed this - and this motherfucker was going to do it for him. Letting his eyelids fall for a moment allowed Gamzee to refocus himself, and when they opened again, he bared his disgusting fangs in a saccharine grin.]

You got it, brother.

[He gave an energetic leap up on to the table, plopping his ass down and staring suspiciously at the faucets.]

You ain't gonna get me motherfuckin' wet, is you?

[Richtofen, who was in the middle of tugging on one of the lengths of rope to make sure it wouldn't unravel, flashed Gamzee a confused look. What a peculiar thing to ask.]

The nature of this operation will leave you fairly wet, ja. [With his own blood, that is. Any sort of strange alien innuendos hidden in there were lost on Richtofen.

He shrugged a shoulder to keep his lab coat from sliding to the floor. With one rope now coiled around his arm, he strode over to the autopsy table and shot Gamzee a glare. He was loathe to get too close to him without knowing whether or not he'd change his mind and try to attack again.]

[For once in his life, Gamzee was not making an innuendo. He was legitimately concerned about dunking his head underneath the faucets. He and water didn't mix well. At least, not when it was poured on his head. Richtofen's vague answer wasn't very comforting, either. Gamzee just groaned and shifted uncomfortably in his spot.]

[He was reluctant to lie down as Richtofen was reluctant to approach. They were both too wary of the other to put themselves in a vulnerable position.]

[Ah, well. If Richtofen decided to get the jump on him while he was lying down, Gamzee was fairly certain he could still get his fangs in the man's neck from that position.]

I ain't gonna fuckin' bite, you warbly-ass nookblister.

[No promises on that. He did, however, lay back on the table, horns clicking against the edge of the sink. His eyes searched the ceiling for a moment before sliding to Richtofen again.]

Just how long the muchly in-demand doc have to take up all and out his bustly motherfucking schedule to be all able to gracing a brother with his God damn presence, anyway?

[The fact that Richtofen had no idea what Gamzee just called him made the insult that much more annoying, for some reason. Had Gamzee not laid down just then, he would've shoved him back. He was trying to be patient, but there was only so much time he could stand to be in a room with the alien brat before he started to lose his cool.]

Far more time than you deserve.

[His response was short and clipped. He pointed up toward the faucets and refused to meet Gamzee's eyes. Perhaps if he didn't look him in his dumb clown face, he'd have less of a desire to shoot it before surgery could even begin.]

Arms up. Over the sink.

[With that rope still in his hand, it's not hard to piece together what's coming next.]

[No, it wasn't hard at all for him to figure out what Richtofen was planning. Restraint for an operation sans-anesthesia was probably a good idea no matter the patient, and especially so if they were a tantrum-prone, psychopathic clown with sharp claws and large fangs.]

[He didn't like this. Being restrained put him at a severe disadvantage. Even though he knew he wasn't coming here for a fight, if things went south and he needed to either attack, defend himself, or hightail it out of there, being shackled to a fucking sink wasn't going to do him any favors.]

[Again, he'd have to trust his own skill. Working his way out of the restraints and away from Richtofen to be able to hold some ground or find an escape would be something not impossible, but very difficult. At least having it in the back of his mind would make him more prepared if such a situation arose.]

[Fuck, was he paranoid. Well, no one was going to survive for very long if they didn't take things like this into consideration. Ultimately, though, it was either become the pussy and wimp out of this whole ordeal (never likely), or put himself in a perilous position to get janky back-alley brain surgery (very likely).]

Didn't know you all was into this motherfuckin' noise.

[He spat the words out in an attempt to hide his temporary indecision, raising his arms to rest against the sink, crossing his wrists over one another as he did so.]

Kinky old bag.

Edited (duhrrhuhrh) 2013-07-17 03:42 (UTC)

[Richtofen moved to unravel a portion of the rope, but when Gamzee kept on babbling, he paused with his hands tight around the bindings. One part of him screamed, 'Don't you take my professionalism so lightly,' while another laughed out an, 'If only you knew.' Killing Hallelujah had reminded him of what it was like to have a powerless subject writhing on an operating table, tugging against their binds until their wrists rubbed raw. It was a sight too satisfying to put into words.

He shook his head. While the voices in his mind overlapped and hissed at him to chop Gamzee up and leave him in purple piles on the floor, he knew he had to uphold his end of the bargain. It would be more advantageous for him in the end. He even had permission to do a little poking around once the brain surgery was finished, a rare opportunity if there ever was one.]

...It is in horrible taste to accost your doctor while he is working.

[More roughly than he needed to, he took hold of Gamzee's wrists and began to wrap the rope around them. The other end of the rope looped around several of the faucets at the head of the autopsy table; the fixtures didn't look terribly sturdy, and while he wouldn't put it past the Tower to make unbreakable furniture, he wanted to make sure Gamzee wouldn't be able to move.

It would be so, so awful if he jerked the wrong way and ended up comatose before the operation was through, after all.]

Should'a all thought motherfuckin' about nixing the God damn commentary before you all up and didn't bring no fucking knockout drugs, motherfucker.

[Richtofen's punishment for lacking anesthesia was having to endure the Capricornian peanut gallery. However, it was also his reward, as surely by some point the boy's words would dissolve into nothing more than cries of agony. Can't have it both ways, sir.]

[Many times before this procedure, Gamzee had entertained the thought of getting blown off his ass beforehand. Sopor would halve the pain, and put him so out of it that he would forget the rest was even happening. As great as that sounded, it would also make him entirely unaware of his surroundings, and if Richtofen tried pulling any shit with him, he'd be dead before he'd even see it coming.]

[He squirmed at the tightness of the rope around his wrists. The bones there were grinding against each other whenever he so much as drew in a breath, but he refused to complain. This fucker wanted him to protest, didn't he? He wasn't sure, honestly, but he seemed like the type to get off to that shit. Gamzee should know - he was the same way. Even if the guy wasn't, it was still a matter of principle.]

[More than once, he'd take in a deep breath to center himself, trying to avoid letting on to any of his discomfort. All he did outwardly was glare around like a feral thing, eyeing Richtofen's every move suspiciously and shifting around atop the table as if he were bored and impatient. He clicked his claws against the metal fixture of the faucet, running his purple tongue over the points of his fangs.]

[Gamzee was right (ugh). Richtofen had somehow managed to underestimate just how infuriating he would be. He grit his teeth and told himself it would all be worth it when he started yowling in pain.]

Don't try me, child. [He tugged on the last bit of rope to make sure it was tight. It was force of habit more than anything; tying people up was second nature to him by now.] I'll cut out your tongue.

[There was still a good bit of rope left in the coil, so he pulled the knife from his belt and began to saw through it. If Gamzee was under the impression that he was anywhere near immobile enough for Richtofen's tastes, he was sadly mistaken.]

I ain't no motherfuckin' child!!

[The human word for wiggler rolled off his tongue about as eloquently as someone who was speaking a language they did not know. Oh, the rope was tight, all right. Stop making it tighter, you fucking buffoon! Did you want to cut off his entire circulatory system!?]

We made a mother fucking verbal contractualization on what all you gonna be fuckin' puttin' me up and all back at what's together when you get your ass fuckin' done and dusted with all, like, your little gutsy playtime noise or whatever the motherfuck.

[He clicked his teeth. Severing his tongue was not something that stuck to their agreement. ALL GUTS BACK IN PLACE WHEN YOU'RE FINISHED, SIR. He needs his fucking body to work without Jason busting out a new one every time, thanks.]

...The fuck, bro!? I ain't gonna fuckin' kick you!! Y'all think I be jonesin' to get my full-body dry heave on? Put more motherfucking rope on me and there ain't gonna be nowhere to cut the fuck into!

[It was a struggle not to whip Gamzee right across the face with the length of rope in his hand. He'd gag him if he wasn't so eager to hear that ridiculous slang of his dissolve into cries of agony. Everyone, he'd learned, had a different reaction to pain, and he desperately wanted to know what Gamzee's was. Would he cry? Beg to be knocked out? Scream until his throat was raw?

Though reluctantly, he forced himself to sheath his knife instead of slamming it into the boy's gut. The way he glared and wrinkled his nose made it apparent that he didn't really want to, though.]

Ja, ja, shut up.

[He didn't much like being reminded that he would actually have to be careful during this operation. He was so used to just ripping out whatever he wanted to look at, but now he was going to have to worry about cauterizing blood vessels, stitching things up, making sure everything was in the right place... He hadn't had to exert such caution in a long time. Even his "playdate" with Hallelujah, where he took care not to let him bleed out too fast, had ended haphazardly at best.]

Child... [He took care to enunciate, eyes locked on Gamzee's. He was a child as far as Richtofen was concerned, protest as he might.]

Let the doctor give you a lesson on reflexes. Let us say it together, nice und slow, come on: re-flex-es.

[And in case his patronizing tone wasn't enough, Richtofen slammed a fist down on Gamzee's kneecap. Better to demonstrate, right?]

[He was sort of expecting a rebuttal of some kind, so when Richtofen put his weapon away and slacked on the rope, it took him a little by surprise, though the smug look on his ridiculously painted face didn't falter any.]

[He merely grinned, taking in the sweet, irritated tone of the man's voice as he stifled his violent urges and spat out acrid words instead. He was enjoying Richtofen's displeasure so much, that he almost missed him raise his hand to strike. Almost, but not entirely. He had enough reaction time to bare his teeth, struggle against his restraints, and attempt to bend his leg to avoid the hit.]

[However, bending his knee didn't really do him any favors, and he soon had a knuckled fist drive into it, intent on shattering his bones. The force slammed his whole leg down, straight to the table once more. It reverberated across the metal surface and up the pole he was tied to.]

Ssssssssssssssssssssss-- motherfuck you, motherfucker!!!

[The hissing was a sharp, involuntary, non-human noise of pain and displeasure at once, whistling through his fangs with spittle not far behind. Gamzee was quick to shut off that switch, however, and began to chew on his tongue to deal with the splintering pain still emanating from his knee without showing any more outward signs of discomfort.]

You all fuckin' intent on being to pulverize my bod before you all even get up to motherfuckin' being inside it!?

[Richtofen loved to see annoying little bastards yowling in pain. He giggled, though it couldn't be heard over Gamzee's screams.]

You see? Just look at that! [He clicked his tongue. A smug, self-satisfied grin weaseled its way onto his face.] What a violent reaction. I will definitely need to restrain you some more.

[Quickly, like he was taking hold of a wild animal, Richtofen reached out and grabbed one of Gamzee's horns.]

How sturdy are these, hmm? [He gave a short tug.] If I tie them down, you might just be completely unable to move that empty head of yours. Wouldn't that be lovely?

[He was getting more and more giddy as time pressed on. He was just so close. A troll's outward appearance - their gray skin and yellow sclera and big, bright horns - was enticing enough, but the inside? He could hardly wait. If it wasn't for the stupid brain surgery he had to focus on, he'd have already sliced Gamzee open.]

[If this had been post-op treatment, Gamzee would have torn that fucking sink from the wall in a fit of blind fury and used it to bash Richtofen's skull to a splintered pulp. Unfortunately, the vile man hadn't yet extracted that bit of irritating sanity welded to his brain, so all he did was growl and snap as his horn was tugged. The pain from the horn bed felt like it was pulling up on his skull and scalp and skin, and he writhed like a fucking trout trying to wrench himself away.]

THAT AIN'T WHAT YOU'RE ALL SUPPOSED TO BE MOTHERFUCKIN' EXTRACTING.

[He bucked again, but there wasn't much he could to that didn't result in more pain, or that wasn't hindered by his current restraints.]

[He knew that he'd have to put himself at Richtofen's mercy in order for this operation to succeed, but, as with all things, he hadn't quite anticipated the actual situation before diving headfirst into it.]

LET THE MOTHERFUCK GO, MOTHERFUCKER!

[His legs weren't restrained. Bad move, Richtofen. Utilizing this advantage, he used the leg closest to Richtofen's tools to kick the table they were laid on with as much force as he could manage.]

Agh-!

[Richtofen let go of Gamzee's horn as soon as he heard his foot connect with the tray. He whipped around and lunged to grab it before it could topple over completely, but a few instruments clattered to the ground nonetheless. He scrambled to yank a few tools away from the edge of the table while at the same time attempting to keep his lab coat from sliding off his arm, which resulted in quite a bit of awkward maneuvering. It wasn't the proudest of sights, that was for sure.]

Scheiße... Fuck! Okay, that is it.

[He righted the table, straightened up, smoothed down his uniform, and glared at Gamzee. One finger waved back and forth in a gesture almost as patronizing as his tone.]

You have most definitely lost your leg privileges, young man!

[He shrugged his other arm, where half of his rope had uncoiled and started to trail along the floor during his frenzy. Quickly and violently, like he was going after a dangerous beast, he lurched forward and attempted to wind the rope around Gamzee's legs.]

[The sight of Richtofen scrambling around in complete disarray was the single most gratifying thing Gamzee had ever laid his lookstubs on. The fucker that probably just shattered his kneecap was now faffing about like a tool. He let a wide, smug grin spread across his painted mouth.]

[That finger. Waving at him like a fucking grub. Or, theoretically, if he had ever had a finger waved at him as a grub. He wanted to rip it off of Richtofen's hand with his teeth.]

[Honestly, he was expecting to be completely immobilized eventually. At least he managed to piss this motherfucker off on his way to it. As the doctor lunged, Gamzee brought his foot up and tried scoring a few hits on his chin and jaw, with undetermined success.]

[God damn this son of a bitch did not fuck around when it came to restraints. Gamzee was pretty sure he couldn't feel his feet anymore.]

The fuck!? Your fuckin' Grub Scout group must all have gotten their wicked praise on at you when it all motherfuckin' came time for the tyin' knots unit, shithead.

[Richtofen dodged as deftly as he could, but he still managed to sustain a few blows to his jaw. He damn near slammed Gamzee's legs against the table by the time the third kick connected, and in record time, he'd tied them down.

Though Richtofen had no idea that Grub Scouts were the troll equivalent of Boy Scouts, which was roughly the same thing as the Hitler Youth group he'd been in, Gamzee was right. Naturally, he excelled in everything he did like a good young boy serving the Fatherland, but he did especially well in those areas he found most practical. And to Richtofen, "practical" meant firing guns, dealing with mangled limbs, and, yes, tying knots. It was a skill that he'd practiced time and time again before coming to the Tower.

He stood up with a huff once the knots were secure and angrily straightened his cap on his head. There was already an ugly purple bruise forming along his jawline, and a bit of bright red blood was smeared between his lips from where he'd bitten down on his tongue. He licked it up slowly, calmly, glaring at Gamzee all the while.

Boy, he was pissed.]

You obviously cannot be trusted with the ability to move your limbs. You are lucky I am not cutting them off.

[Each word was spoken slowly and deliberately with the intent not to give away just how mad he was, but it ended up having the opposite effect. Richtofen was positively seething. It wasn't supposed to go like this. His prey- um, patients were supposed to lay down and scream and struggle, not attack him. The only thing keeping him from overturning the table Gamzee had kicked and bashing his skull to a pulp with it was the knowledge that he'd soon have him completely under his mercy.

With a roll of his shoulders that would be more fit on an elegant, snooty woman, he turned on his heel and then bent at the waist. He began to pick up the fallen tools one by one. He hummed while he did it, and called up to Gamzee in a tone far too venomous to pass for idle.]

Oh my, these floors are rather grimy. I do so hope none of my equipment has been contaminated...

[There was a breathy hiss in response to that. Anything he said could possibly betray whatever weakness he happened to have, and that weakness happened to be his immune system. A steady diet of drugs and carbonated swill had left Gamzee extremely susceptible to sickness. He'd come down with a fever more times than he could count since coming to this tower alone, and more times still before.]

Shut the fuck up.

[He rested his head back in a huff. It was all fun and games until you were actually threatened. However, Gamzee had mastered the art of masking all emotions that weren't anger with anger. He lifted a lip in a silent growl, baring a few fangs like a dog.]

How much fuckin' more flirting I gotta put up with before you actually cut me the motherfuck open!?

[His eyes, which had previously been locked on Richtofen's, uh, bent form, shifted to the man's face as he finished straightening his things. The welt and blood on that disgusting pink skin made his pump biscuit sing. It was such a perfect addition to an already abhorrent face. The feeling of skin and teeth crushing under his heel was something he'd love to relive, if he could feel his feet at all. No matter. Visual evidence of his attack had still remained, and he had a suspicion that that was what he was going to focus on through the copious amounts of pain he was about to be delivered.]

[Always good to find something to ground yourself.]

[Richtofen was in the middle of straightening up his tools again when what Gamzee said made him falter. Had he not been wearing those thick leather gloves of his, he would've cut his finger on the edge of one of the instruments that he hastily dropped onto the table.]

Wh- How much more what?

[Was he flirting? He didn't think he was. He was almost positive. He was just, well, extraordinarily excited to finally be this close to slicing Gamzee open, that's all it was. And, because he was so excited, he wheeled the tray of instruments up next to Gamzee's head and turned his back. He made quick work tearing off his uniform jacket and pulling the lab coat on over the white button-up he wore underneath.

All the while, he muttered to himself a little bit too loudly.]

Stupid alien, with your stupid horns, und stupid mouth...

Edited 2013-07-25 19:54 (UTC)

[Holy fuck, calm your motherfucking wunderlumps. He was only joking, you shit-for-brains. However, the reaction that seemingly innocuous comment garnered was much more than he'd expected, and that was just the cherry on top of the vomit cake that was this entire exchange.]

[Gamzee grinned, even if he felt much like a roast pig on a spit. The flustered grumbles of the man next to him calmed his nerves and allowed him a brief respite. He struggled against his restraints, trying in vain to make them at least marginally more comfortable.]

You're all the motherfuckin' alien, you pink fuckin' nookblister.

[If he couldn't assault him with his limbs, he would continue to assault him with juvenile retorts.]

[It didn't need reiterating that they were alien to each other. Richtofen's reaction was proof enough. Coming from a culture where insulting someone and threatening loss of limb wasn't a flirting technique, of course he thought it strange to be accused of something like that. Flirting, to Richtofen, was reserved for dopey young kids and hopeless romantics, done by giggling and blushing and all of that other disgusting stuff.

Troll romance sure was weird.

With a huff, he finished buttoning his lab coat and straightened it out. His hat and leather gloves got tossed onto the nearby empty table where he'd laid his jacket. He ran a hand through his graying, crew-cut hair and turned to fix Gamzee with a nasty look.]

It is time for your surgery.

[He shoved his hand into his pocket to keep himself from punching Gamzee in the face. His fingers closed around the stark-white gloves and surgical mask he kept there, and he pulled everything out to give him something else to do with his hands. Through his combination of anger and anticipation, they had almost started trembling.]

Now shut up.

[Perfect. His brain surgeon had fucking Parkinson's.]

Fat mother fucking chance.

[With every word Gamzee uttered, his maturity took another nosedive. He rubbed his wrists together beneath the rope, then glanced down to attempt making any movement with his toes. Anything to keep his mind off of the fact that he was about to get cracked open like a fucking oyster. Messiahs above only knew he wouldn't put it past this demented old fart to want to slurp his insides out, as well.]

[He could feel his heart beating in his ears.]

[He'd endured countless hours of agonizing pain before. He wasn't some wimpy grub. He'd been beaten to death several times here. He'd had his skin ripped off and sewn back on, had his ankle crack in half and was forced to walk on it. Just. Take a breath.]

[He ran his tongue over his fangs, half wishing that Richtofen would change his mind suddenly, and decide to try killing him instead. At least then he'd have an excuse to break shit and get the fuck out of dodge.]

[However, the doctor was being eerily complacent. He was sticking to their agreement suspiciously well. Gamzee figured it was probably because the gravity of the situation was not equal for them both. Richtofen had to get a pesky chip from some kid's skull, then was able to muck about his organs as compensation for the deed. Gamzee held Richtofen as his last resort. If this guy fucked him over in any way, he was done for.]

[I THOUGHT WE WERE BREATHING??? What the fuck happened to relaxing!?]

If I ain't having no noise come the fuck up out my mother fucking windhole, it be a good motherfuckin' indicator on what I all be more than fucking deader than a shit's tit.

That be a motherfucking stipulation, remember, bro?

[With a flick of his wrist, Richtofen turned on the light above the table. It shone bright and white into Gamzee's face, illuminating his soon-to-be work area.]

I am not your bro.

[His voice was clipped and deadpan. He raised an eyebrow down at Gamzee.]

Und child, if 'not babbling constantly' is your definition of 'dead,' then I feel sorry for whoever has to deal with you on a daily basis.

[He pulled his mask on, then begrudgingly forced himself to give his hands a quick wash in the sink Gamzee was tied to. Stupid hygiene standards. If this wasn't brain surgery, he wouldn't bother. Ah, well - at least he could delight in the hot water pouring down on Gamzee's hands as well. When that was out of the way, he pulled his gloves on with a snap and snatched a scalpel off of the table with his tools on it.

He loved the way the edge glistened in the light. It was easy to tell just by looking at it that it was sharp, and remembering that he was doing this with no anasthesia brought a smile to Richtofen's face. Even with a mask on, it was easy to tell he was delighted. The sparkle in his eyes was hard to miss, as bright and as sharp as the blade he was holding.]

If you are flapping that mouth of yours too much, I could slip! [He chuckled.] ...That would be bad, wouldn't it?

[Gamzee winced at the light, squinting his eyes until his horizontal pupils were nothing but tiny slits. Trolls' eyes were meant for the dark, not to have bright lights blasted in them. Even daylight was pushing it. He hissed quietly, not wanting to give Richtofen the satisfaction of hearing him in discomfort.]

Sure you fuckin' are. You ain't getting to motherfuckin' be deciding on that. Only all I can be at gettin' the determinations of broship going.

[Now he was just talking to piss him off. He had absolutely no interest in being "bros" with this butcher. Though, he wouldn't mind stalking him for a while with the sole purpose of pissing him off. That shrill yelling was sort of addicted once you got to hear it.]

[The hot water was fucking scalding. You know when your normal, human hands have been out in the cold, and you run them under hot water? How much hotter it seems to burn? Gamzee's hands are always freezing, so dousing them in such sterilizing heat was downright painful. A breath hitched in his chest, which puffed up with the strain of him trying not to make a sound. It felt like his skin was going to fall off of his hands. He bit at his lower lip until the doctor was finished, then slowly let out the breath he had built up and settled back against the table.]

Be your breach of motherfuckin' contract, bitch.

[The words were muttered in a less excited tone than he'd been previously using, and his gaze flicked up to the glinting, destructive device in Richtofen's hand. He knew that was going to be wedged in his skull sooner than later. The thought kind of exhilarated him, send a brief flutter of butterflies through his digestive sac until it was replaced by nerves and a sudden urge to puke up all of the nothingness that he hadn't eaten that day.]

Take a piece of my motherfuckin' thinkpan and use it all to add to the god damn space what's where's yours is all supposed to be being, yeah?

Free of motherfuckin' charge.

[Richtofen took note of the way that chest expanded. It gave him a much nicer view, and all he could think about was sliding a scalpel straight down Gamzee's center, then reaching in and pulling things out until he was hollow. The sooner he got the stupid brain surgery over with, the faster he could make that image a reality.

He also took interest in the strange way that Gamzee's pupils behaved, but he'd think more on those later. He was almost certain he couldn't fudge an excuse to pop one of those out and slice it open. What a pity.

Okay. Enough stalling. He was getting far too excited already.]

Watch your mouth. Remember who has the blade in his hand.

[He stepped forward, his front flush with the table, and reached out to brush Gamzee's unruly bangs away from his forehead. With the sleeve of his lab coat, he began to scrub at the facepaint there.]

Look at this. Did you not think to wash your greasy face before coming here? [His arm moved a little too fast, a little too rough.] Honestly. I am not your mother.

[Although there is a desire to refrain from bursting any bubbles, digging someone's organs out of their middle willy-nilly would probably result in a swift expiration of the patient. It was clear Richtofen did not place great importance on the fatality rate of his subjects, but... even with this in mind, Gamzee still felt safer in his hands than Jason's.]

[Well, safe enough as one can feel while still insisting on being kept awake and undrugged for the entirety of the operation. Why did he have to keep reminding himself of that?]

What'll you up and motherfuckin' do, doc? Slice the big purple wondertongue right out my fucking face?

AGH--!!

[That exclamation he couldn't have held back. Richtofen was scrubbing the paint away right where his prior incision had been. It hadn't healed nearly enough to be treated in such a rough manner, and the more Richtofen ground the facepaint and stiff texture of his coat fabric against the wound, the more Gamzee tensed and writhed beneath him. His fingers and palms grasped what they could of the rope holding them to the sink, his knees bent awkwardly as he tried in vain to plant the soles of his feet on the table, and his torso jerked to the side.]

AUGH-- FUCK--!!

[When Richtofen had finished, the paint had successfully been removed, revealing a patch of gray skin against the contrast of the white paint. Across that skin, however, was a very angry purple line, heavily irritated and partially rubbed open and raw. He was panting in an attempt to get through the searing pain that still burned across his head. God damnit.]

I'LL BITE YOUR FILTHY FUCKING ARM OFF NEXT TIME, YOU SHITTY MOTHERFUCKIN' PINK MEATBAG.

[The sight of Gamzee writhing on the table like that was so incredibly vindicating that Richtofen continued to scrub at his forehead far longer than he should have. He applied more pressure and giggled under his breath. He loved the way the ropes rubbed at his wrists, and how his body tried in vain to move away from whatever sort of pain he was feeling. It stirred something in the pit of his stomach that made his eyes go half-lidded and his breath quicken up.

He brushed Gamzee's threat off with a laugh.]

Ah, ja, I'm sure you will.

[Finally, after he'd wiped the face paint off and used the residue to slick Gamzee's bangs out of his face as best as he could manage, he saw why he had been such a little bitch about it. His smile could be heard in his voice.]

...Your old incision still hasn't healed? My, what an eager little patient you are. [He continued in a sing-song voice.] I don't want to keep you waiting~

[He braced one hand against Gamzee's forehead, holding him firmly down against the table. With the other, he brought up the scalpel and lined it flush with the old wound.

With a quick, precise push, he stabbed the tip of the blade into Gamzee's skin.]

[Gamzee's breaths of relief were short-lived. His fingers continued to pull at their bindings, whether it was for distraction or an actual attempt at getting them loose wasn't clear, but he wasn't going anywhere regardless. The leverage just wasn't there. If he started sawing with his claws, maybe he could cut through it - but what would that accomplish? He'd have his arms free to... punch Richtofen? Sabotage his own requested operation? Being put in such a position was far more frustrating than he'd originally anticipated - even more so when he knew how immensely the man favored his exclamations of agony.]

[He wanted to tear the fucker's throat out.]

Good fucking choice! Hurry your motherf-f-fucking ass-s--

[Oh. Fuck.]

[Oh fuck.]

[Oh f-f-fuck.]

[He'd been sort of okay about keeping his anger in check. The sedative properties of the microchip helped with that, to be sure, but there were some times when he just couldn't control himself, and the chip didn't like that very much. It fucked with his head, severely affecting his speech, emotions and motor skills. Attempting to warn Richtofen of this problematic side-effect hadn't crossed his mind prior to the operation, and trying to explain it now was certainly out of the question, seeing as he was a stuttering, speechless idiot about to get a scalpel driven into his head.]

[So, regrettably, his jaw clenched painfully shut of its own volition, and as soon as Richtofen dug the blade of the scalpel into his flesh, Gamzee's head did a nasty jerk.]

[The way Gamzee fidgeted didn't go unnoticed. Richtofen's ears perked up every time the ropes strained; he could even hear it over the way the voices chuckled and whispered in his head. And that stutter was bliss in and of itself. It wasn't nearly as magnificent as a scream, but it warmed his heart nonetheless.

The first thing he noticed was that the scalpel didn't pierce the skin nearly as easily as it should have. It took an extra jerk of his wrist to get it to go through, but he only had a brief moment to wonder if all trolls had skin that tough before Gamzee's head lurched forward.

It was difficult, but he managed to slam his head back down onto the table, and he kept himself from slicing too deep into his head. He grunted in irritation and yanked the scalpel out. Little rivulets of purple spilled over his fingers, staining his glove and dripping down Gamzee's face. Ah, he loved how much head wounds bled, but he didn't have time to dwell on it now.]

You idiot! This is why I wanted to tie your damned horns down!

[There was a rough edge to Richtofen's voice, like he was forcing himself to be more angry than amused. His eyes seemed livid enough above the line of his mask, though.]

Do you really expect me to be able to do brain surgery like this? I'll end up lobotomizing you! Augh, but at this point, I would say you deserve it!

[Gamzee was too absorbed in fighting off the crippling grip of his parasite to pay any attention to what immense pain might have come from having a scalpel gouged into and subsequently yanked from his skull. Before he knew it, he was being forced back down by Richtofen's hand (actually quite a helpful maneuver - thank you, Doctor.)]

[He shut his eyes, riding out the last of the muscle spasms until he could open his mouth freely again. Between breaths of air, he ground his teeth together, since it was the only way he could really express his anger while being bound at the wrists and ankles. He spat out what blood had dripped into his mouth, feeling the cool liquid slide down his temples and trickle into his eyebrows and hairline.]

It ain't no motherfuckin' fault of mine!!

[He sounded incredibly agitated, glaring up at Richtofen with an equally furious scowl.]

Grubfuckin' piece of shit make me go all short-circuit like I'm up to fuckin' be built up of metal-y robostuff!

[As he shouted, he'd lifted himself up a bit. It didn't take any pushing for him to lie back down again. He only got jittery when he was angry. If he stayed calm, he'd be fine. Fat fucking chance with a prissy-ass motherfucking entrailophile dickwad for a surgeon running his flappy mouth like he was.]

If Dr. Nookwhiff would be fuckin' keepin' his squawk blister on mute, we won't gonna motherfuckin' be having these sorts of problems.

Hmph. What was it that you said? [Richtofen set the hand with the scalpel in it on his hip, and in a patronizing, mocking tone, went on:] 'Oh, stipulations, doctor. If I am not talking, I'm deader than a-' Well. I don't remember the ridiculous language you used, but the point is, shut up.

[He raised the scalpel again and waved it back and forth like it was a finger. A bead of Gamzee's blood dripped down the blade to stain his glove.]

You would do well to listen to the doctor's orders. When I am inside of your torso, feel free to talk und scream as much as you'd like, but when I am in your head?

[He smiled sweetly for just a second, but, as quickly as the change in attitude had come around, it vanished again. He shouted at the top of his lungs.]

Do not fucking move!

[It was a tall order for someone who had to endure the pain under no anesthesia, but it was one that Richtofen expected Gamzee to fill nonetheless. Anything else was insolence, laziness, a deliberate attempt to make things harder on him. After all, if he wanted something done, why shouldn't it get done? His whims were to be obeyed no matter what.]

I fuckin' told you to shut all your infernal putrid meal tunnel, not mine! What's words you're all to motherfuckin' be spewing just serve to be all bursting a thousand unholy rage vessels up in a brother's mother fucking nug!

[Gamzee watched his blood slide down the scalpel. He didn't mind seeing his own blood coating things, truthfully. He was more concerned about the fact that he might seize up again, and he couldn't delay this operation any more than he already had, Richtofen's orders notwithstanding.]

[Being screamed at was something he was more accustomed to dealing with, especially when it was orders he was hell-bent on not following. However, he would reluctantly be following this one, out of no duty to appease his doctor.]

I ain't too motherfuckin' keen on kickin' my wicked shit under your prissy little thumb.

[He let out a breath, trailing his pupils to the spots on the ceiling.]

Do your fuckin' worst, Doc.

[A grin split Richtofen's face.]

Oh, my. Is that a challenge? [Shouldn't have said that, Gamzee.] All right. Let us try this one more time, ja? Und if you cannot sit still, the doctor will have to restrain you more.

[Truthfully, he didn't expect Gamzee to comply. Who would? But part of the fun of performing an operation was watching patients thrash around in pain, and if Richtofen tied him up too thoroughly, he wouldn't get to see that. He wanted to enjoy Gamzee's desperate attempts to keep himself still for just a little while longer.

He braced his hand back against Gamzee's hairline, then pressed the scalpel back into his flesh. This time, he didn't wait. He cut a line down his forehead with a quick jerk of his wrist.]

[The pain was immediate, and it was jarring. As if he hadn't grown accustomed to enough of it already! The thick gray hide practically sprang open at Richtofen's hand, and he was greeted with a rush of more purple blood. It trailed down the crooked bridge of Gamzee's nose, it trailed down his temples, down his cheeks, pooling in the corners of his eyes as he desperately tried to blink it away.]

[He felt like he was short-circuiting. His thoughts and words snapped and jittered more violently than they ever had. It was almost as if the device knew it was about to be ripped from his skull. His eyes were bloody and floating off in different directions. His back was twitching in an arch he wasn't allowing himself to make. His fangs were gnashing together and making an awful racket.]

[Gamzee pounded his fists against the table. If he made one wrong move, he'd lose things on his face that he'd rather not. His claws scraped against the metal, creating a screech that warbled and rivaled the sound his teeth were making. In a gasp, he tried to draw a breath, but it was sticky with the phlegm that had built up in his throat.]

[The pain ebbed. Though it still scorched his head, it wasn't as brutal as that first incision had been. His eyes regained focus and synced back up. Blinking away more blood, his erratically-shaped pupils found their way to the doctor once more.]

You ain't makin' this fuckin' easy, old man.

[Watching blood pour out of someone was a sight that never got old. It was particularly vindicating when that blood belonged to someone who he considered a personal enemy. He wanted to keep moving his scalpel, to slice and slice until he could rip Gamzee's face clean off, but he stilled himself once the incision was finished.]

Medical work is never easy.

[By some miracle, his voice was steadier than he expected it to be. His eyes were wide as he stared at the wound he'd made, at the blood that dripped down Gamzee's face and stained his own gloves with that unnatural purple.]

...But it is necessary. [Though it couldn't be seen under his mask, Richtofen smirked.] Und you will do good to remember that.

[The talking was good, actually. Even though every time Richtofen opened his mouth (which he could now never prepare for, since the mask was now covering it) made Gamzee want to rip his own ears off, their banter did serve the purpose of distracting him from the pain of his incision, and it bought him some time to prepare for the next round of agony.]

[He was lucky the blood had caught in his eyes, because they were also watering from the pain. Gamzee wasn't a pussy, and he certainly didn't cry over anything, but watering eyes were a completely involuntary reaction to facial wounds, more often than not. Unfortunately, this time was no exception. He was, however, able to blink most of the moisture away along with the blood, saving face for at least a little while.]

N-N-Nothing all what words you ever all be motherf-fuckin' yammerin' at a motherfucker is-- is gonna be noted on this motherfucking th-thinkpan, you fuckin' festering r-rectal... abscess...

[Holy shit, was it getting fucking annoying to try and speak. The more pain that was pounding through his head, the more the chip caused his jaw to clench and unclench, his body to twitch, his eyes to jerk and his speech to falter. The sooner this thing was gone, the sooner he could get on with annoying the living piss out of everyone around him again.]

N-Necessary. You all mother fucking tellin' my fucking ass!

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017 ♑ [siebzehnte honk]

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