gAmZeE MaKaRa ♑ terminallyCapricious (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hystericull) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
towerofanimus2013-08-16 02:51 pm
hystericull) wrote in towerofanimus2013-08-16 02:51 pm
Entry tags:
019 ♑ [nineteenth honk]
Characters: Gamzee and you.
Setting: Floor 62, Floor 53, Floor 27.
Format: Action.
Summary: A combination of event post and general open log, making up for my hiatus time. Floor 53 will be the setting for the Individuation plot, Floors 62 and 27 will be general settings for non-plot things, forward-dated a little just for convenience's sake. OH AN ACTUAL SUMMARY - Gamzee hears voices and goes crazy, which is pretty run-of-the-mill for him, but this time it's accompanied by shadowy children who don't like him very much. In the other threads, he's being equally disconcerting, however with a noted lack of children.
Warnings: Gamzee. Profanity, general vulgarity.
Floor 53 (Classroom)
[Much like the beach, Gamzee had spent a lot of time vandalizing this floor, as well. Chalk was scattered all over the floor, white hand prints pressed on every surface imaginable. The scrawlings on the board ranged from crude artistic depictions of violence, to repeated profanities, to long lines of text that seemed to have been copied from memory or some sort of literature. These still varied in subject matter. Some of it was written like dialogue; accusatory, harsh and degrading. The language was so brutal and unfeeling, yet it was written in the neatest handwriting (if any of Gamzee's handwriting could actually be considered such.)]
[The dialogue was the words he was hearing from his hauntlings. Some of the children had dissipated after Gamzee had become uninterested in them. However, three of them still stuck around. He did his best to ignore them, but his mindless, unconscious scribbling of their relentless beratements betrayed his efforts, serving only to encourage them. The relationships depicted through the words were pretty discernible, all things considered. One was clearly a parental figure, though these sentences were only half-formed, as if having been translated before being written. The words and phrases here, despite not being complete, were just as ruthless, if not moreso than the others, and the pocks of dust on most of them suggest the chalk had been broken numerous times transcribing them.]
[The other two sections of dialogue were decidedly non-familial in nature. One was platonic, the other romantic, but both seemed to come from very close relationships. One was written exclusively in huge capital letters, belittling chastisement punctuated with "FUCK"s and long, drawn-out metaphors. The other was more serious in nature, almost disappointed, but just as angry.]
[You'd either find Gamzee scribbling away at the chalkboard, wearing down the remainder of his chalk to nubs, or sitting at one of the desks, gouging into the wood with his claws. Whatever he happened to be doing, he was pretty absorbed in it.]
Floor 62 (Beach)
[While this floor had usually been a place of reflection for him, Gamzee has spent most of the day tearing up the beach. Holes were dug everywhere, some filled with water now from the flowing tide. Where there weren't holes, there were deep gouges, claw marks and scratches that ripped across the light, dry sand to reveal the darker grains underneath.]
[He wasn't using any tools, so his hands and clothes were extremely dirty. A few of his long, yellow nails had broken off, not that he'd noticed. Currently, he's working at a particularly deep hole, scratching at the inner walls to carve it wider and painting the sand with the purple blood that had begun to drip from where his skin had broken.]
Floor 27 (Lab)
[For the first time in a while, a large grin was spread across Gamzee's face, long fangs pointing out in awkward directions. Bright light shining through rows of liquid-filled tubes cast multicolored shapes across his cheeks, and although the lights alone would be enough to capture his attention for hours, he found himself much more interested in the liquid itself. Various vials of blood, collected from monsters, fallen tower inhabitants, and two very special samples - bright red and jade green - bubbling in their own tubes next to a beaker of brown, separate from the rest.]
[Gamzee didn't have much patience for learning. The knowledge to operate this equipment was the only thing he could manage to glean from books in the library. Procedures, precautions, and any direction at all, he deemed unnecessary. He was running tests based on a whim, adding catalysts without knowing what could happen. As such, part of his work station had a big, black char across it, and the top part of his shirt collar had been blown off.]
[However, he didn't seem deterred by this, only motivated. He made his rounds, dumping assorted chemicals into the vials before returning to stare at the bubbling Christmas colors with an obsessive fascination.]
Setting: Floor 62, Floor 53, Floor 27.
Format: Action.
Summary: A combination of event post and general open log, making up for my hiatus time. Floor 53 will be the setting for the Individuation plot, Floors 62 and 27 will be general settings for non-plot things, forward-dated a little just for convenience's sake. OH AN ACTUAL SUMMARY - Gamzee hears voices and goes crazy, which is pretty run-of-the-mill for him, but this time it's accompanied by shadowy children who don't like him very much. In the other threads, he's being equally disconcerting, however with a noted lack of children.
Warnings: Gamzee. Profanity, general vulgarity.
[Much like the beach, Gamzee had spent a lot of time vandalizing this floor, as well. Chalk was scattered all over the floor, white hand prints pressed on every surface imaginable. The scrawlings on the board ranged from crude artistic depictions of violence, to repeated profanities, to long lines of text that seemed to have been copied from memory or some sort of literature. These still varied in subject matter. Some of it was written like dialogue; accusatory, harsh and degrading. The language was so brutal and unfeeling, yet it was written in the neatest handwriting (if any of Gamzee's handwriting could actually be considered such.)]
[The dialogue was the words he was hearing from his hauntlings. Some of the children had dissipated after Gamzee had become uninterested in them. However, three of them still stuck around. He did his best to ignore them, but his mindless, unconscious scribbling of their relentless beratements betrayed his efforts, serving only to encourage them. The relationships depicted through the words were pretty discernible, all things considered. One was clearly a parental figure, though these sentences were only half-formed, as if having been translated before being written. The words and phrases here, despite not being complete, were just as ruthless, if not moreso than the others, and the pocks of dust on most of them suggest the chalk had been broken numerous times transcribing them.]
[The other two sections of dialogue were decidedly non-familial in nature. One was platonic, the other romantic, but both seemed to come from very close relationships. One was written exclusively in huge capital letters, belittling chastisement punctuated with "FUCK"s and long, drawn-out metaphors. The other was more serious in nature, almost disappointed, but just as angry.]
[You'd either find Gamzee scribbling away at the chalkboard, wearing down the remainder of his chalk to nubs, or sitting at one of the desks, gouging into the wood with his claws. Whatever he happened to be doing, he was pretty absorbed in it.]
[While this floor had usually been a place of reflection for him, Gamzee has spent most of the day tearing up the beach. Holes were dug everywhere, some filled with water now from the flowing tide. Where there weren't holes, there were deep gouges, claw marks and scratches that ripped across the light, dry sand to reveal the darker grains underneath.]
[He wasn't using any tools, so his hands and clothes were extremely dirty. A few of his long, yellow nails had broken off, not that he'd noticed. Currently, he's working at a particularly deep hole, scratching at the inner walls to carve it wider and painting the sand with the purple blood that had begun to drip from where his skin had broken.]
[For the first time in a while, a large grin was spread across Gamzee's face, long fangs pointing out in awkward directions. Bright light shining through rows of liquid-filled tubes cast multicolored shapes across his cheeks, and although the lights alone would be enough to capture his attention for hours, he found himself much more interested in the liquid itself. Various vials of blood, collected from monsters, fallen tower inhabitants, and two very special samples - bright red and jade green - bubbling in their own tubes next to a beaker of brown, separate from the rest.]
[Gamzee didn't have much patience for learning. The knowledge to operate this equipment was the only thing he could manage to glean from books in the library. Procedures, precautions, and any direction at all, he deemed unnecessary. He was running tests based on a whim, adding catalysts without knowing what could happen. As such, part of his work station had a big, black char across it, and the top part of his shirt collar had been blown off.]
[However, he didn't seem deterred by this, only motivated. He made his rounds, dumping assorted chemicals into the vials before returning to stare at the bubbling Christmas colors with an obsessive fascination.]
no subject
Get all your motherfucking hands off me.
[The growl rumbling from his throat was enough to make his bared fangs rattle together, and were he any more animalistic, he might have begun to slobber. Fortunately, Richtofen was spared the drool this time. Gamzee wrenched his arm out of the man's grip, pulling himself back a few steps and taking the horn with him. One of two things was clear - either he realized his anger was misplaced (unlikely), or his mind prioritized something as more important than getting in a squabble right this second (more likely).]
...Fuck!
[He didn't want his blood to burn. With a flick of his hand, he turned the knob on the burners down, reducing the boil of his beakers.]
[It didn't do much to quell his anger, however. He was back casting glares at Richtofen in an instant, idly thumbing the bloody, disgusting lump in his hand.]
Praise be all most mother fucking don't be having what all I'm got.
But no one else got blinding swill like what's this is up inside them 'cept you fuckers.
[His eyes flicked to the specks of red on the scalp of the horn.]
And this thing.
no subject
Ugh! Gladly.
[Gamzee looked positively mad. It might have been funny had he been in a better mood. Now, though, it just made him feel like toppling all those beakers over and smashing Gamzee's face in the wreckage. He could stomp on that stupid, empty head of his and crush it just like a grape, kick his stomach until he forced all of those pretty organs right out of him.
Partly because he was lost in fantasy, and partly because Gamzee had somehow managed to make even less sense than usual, Richtofen had no idea what he had just said. He blinked then narrowed his eyes, equal parts confused and pissed.]
Blinding swi- What? If you are going to speak English, at least make an effort to do it properly, swine! You'd be easier to understand if you just barked und grunted. Now, why don't you calm down und stop making a fool out of yourself?
no subject
[Turning completely from the beakers, Gamzee balled his hand into a tight fist, raising it for a moment before reconsidering and using it only to jab his clawed forefinger in Richtofen's direction.]
It ain't none of my motherfuckin' faults in what your ass all ain't able to get your translate on quick enough! Quit thinkin' in gibberish and then all maybe you'll motherfuckin' be hearing the noise at which I get my mother fucking slam on of!
[He growled again, only this one sounded more human in nature, like the sound an upset teenager would make while heavily exaggerating their eye-rolling. Coincidentally, that is also what he was doing. Most teenagers didn't have yellow eyes with dark irises, however.]
The fuck you all still hanging the motherfuck around here for!? I ain't gonna give you a fuckin' treat!
no subject
grandparent in this situation, reacted by clasping his arms behind his back and straightening up to his full height. Which... wasn't actually that tall compared to Gamzee. Fuck.Still, he certainly looked the part of the grizzled, irritated war veteran, with stubble on his face he hadn't bothered to shave, wearing a disdainful scowl as he looked Gamzee up-and-down. His posture and expression both clearly spelled out, "I am not going to take any of your shit today, young man."]
I am hanging around because you are dirtying up my workspace with your... [He wrinkled his nose in the direction of Gamzee's most recent explosion.] ...experiments. I will not have you ruining everything you put your grubby little hands on because you do not understand what you're handling.
[It took all of his self-control not to shout. He had to be the adult here. The mature one. If he wasn't, he'd just sink to Gamzee's juvenile, ridiculous level, and he couldn't go on living if he found any more similarities between himself and the brat.]
no subject
[Instead of listen to anything Richtofen had to say (it was probably all boring, anyway), he instead decided to study the man before him. Gamzee's guts still throbbed from what he'd done to him, and it was amusing to think that someone like this could cause him so much lasting pain. Were human adults always so small? It was a thought that plagued him often. He'd only recently been able to distinguish between a young human and an older one, and Richtofen had all of the characteristics of an adult, by human standards. Broader build, deeper voice, weathered skin, stick up his ass. The tiny, thick hairs on his face were a mild source of confusion. He could only chalk it up to being another trait of maturity, because he'd never seen a child with those weird pokey hairs dotting their cheeks and jaw. Come to think of it, the human administrators had had the same feature. As many times as he was face-to-face with Jason, he'd never gotten to run his fingers over it like he'd wanted. Gamzee's eyes flitted from one feature of his to the next, unabashedly giving him multiple once-overs.]
[He blinked once. Twice. He brought his hands up to stare at them. The fingers were impossibly long, given the illusion of more length by his bright yellow claws. Each one measured about an inch, but a few of them were chipped or completely broken in half. Either way, they were still fit for tearing, and that's all that really mattered to him. Despite Richtofen's accusations...]
My hands ain't fuckin' little!
[Seriously, dude, what were you on!? They may have been skin and bones, but he had some massive mitts, okay! Incidentally, this is the only information Gamzee chose to take from Richtofen's scolding.]
If you got such a motherfuckin' prickly pear shoved up you nook 'bout it, why all ain't you fucking get your assist on at a motherfucker?
[His lips parted into that obnoxious smile again. He wasn't expecting a favorable response.]
no subject
The size of your hands is of no concern to me. It's what you're doing with them that counts, you idiot.
[He didn't give that statement any time to sink in before he strode over to Gamzee's workspace ("workspace" being a term he used very loosely). Try as he might, he still couldn't figure out what it was he was trying to do. He could understand performing odd tests on blood, having done so himself many times in his life, but he could see no merit in a troll boiling the blood of members of his own species. It looked more like Gamzee was a kid fucking around with his school's chemistry set after-hours, interested in nothing more than making things explode.]
Look at this. [He waved a hand at the set-up.] This is an absolute mess. Where are your notes? What are your objectives? You know what-- Fine.
[He put his hand behind his back again and tilted his chin up, snooty as always.]
I am taking over. You may work as my assistant, if you'd like.
no subject
[Only people that had to make up for what they were lacking used that line, Richtofen. But, no matter. Their banter was of little concern to him, now that he had the doctor so close to his precious blood. He had to keep a watchful eye on the lunatic, lest he make off with what Gamzee had worked so hard to collect.]
[In essence, he was doing nothing more than fucking around for the sake of fucking around. Gamzee's main strategy in life was "try things until you don't fuck up". He would keep following his gut until it led to something miraculous (which he was sure it always would).]
[He clicked his tongue at Richtofen's never-ending disdain. You'd think the moron's mouth would run dry, what with him flapping his gums so much.]
Like fuckin' hell you is!
[Gamzee didn't give a shit about Richtofen's impeccable posture, and he doubly didn't give a shit about the snooty, pretentious look set upon that ragged mug of his. He stepped between the doctor and the work table until they were bumping chests, arching his back awkwardly enough so he was staring up at him, nose to nose. It was a common defensive posture in beasts - raise the hackles, lower the head, bare the teeth.]
You ain't taking motherfuckin' shit from me, motherfucker!!!
no subject
I am not taking anything. I am simply offering to help, ja?
[He smiled. It was sickly-sweet, and his eyes bored holes into Gamzee's as he looked down his nose at him, but years of practice meant he was almost able to make himself sound sincere. Almost.]
Just tell me what it is you want to do. I've been doing this practically my entire life, you know. Perhaps I could be of assistance.
[The thought of helping Gamzee with anything made his gut turn, but he wasn't stupid enough not to see this as an opportunity. How long had he wanted to get good, plentiful samples of troll biology to work on? He'd only managed to use Gamzee as a specimen, and that was far from ideal. If he had to pretend to be friendly for a little while in order to reach his own ends, he'd do it.]
no subject
[He stared at him for quite a long time, saying nothing in response, save for a few noncommittal grunts of aggression. His tongue slid over his fangs, coating them with a thick, purple saliva. His brow furrowed.]
...
[His lips turned inward, as if he was trying to hold back a laugh.]
I ain't got no motherfuckin' clue what it all is that's what's I'm wanting to be fucking doing.
no subject
He tracked every little movement of the boy's face, from the crease in his brow to the way his tongue moved over his fangs. He was close enough to hear every little grunt, and he responded with a few tiny growls of his own.
Finally, after what felt like far too long, Gamzee broke the silence. Richtofen tore his eyes away from his mouth to glare into the boy's yellow eyes.
When what he'd said sunk in, he backed up a few inches in frustration.]
...What.
[He wasn't surprised. He really wasn't. Of course this little bastard didn't have a goal in mind, but that just made Richtofen angrier. He was fussing with chemicals, making explosions, and wasting all that precious blood for no reason? It made him sick to his stomach.
He bit down savagely on his tongue before he could start screaming again. The strong tang of blood spread through his mouth. He wouldn't smash Gamzee's head against the edge of the table, he wouldn't smash Gamzee's head against the edge of the table, he wouldn't smash Gamzee's head against the edge of the fucking table oh god he wanted to smash his fucking brains in so badly.]
no subject
[Gamzee tilted his head in mock-concern for the apparent lousy hearing of his conversational partner. Watching Richtofen fidget in agitation was such a treat to behold, and if he could make him any more frustrated by repeating himself in response to an obviously rhetorical question, he'd take all opportunities.]
Was thinkin' all along the motherfuckin' lines that once I was all up to be beginning to get started on delving the fuck into this bitch, when is all I'd be figuring the fuck out on what miracles all are at needing to be motherfucking enacted, you know?
[He shrugged his shoulders, ignoring Richtofen's apparent internal temper tantrum in favor of turning back to the beakers.]
Little dudes ain't be speakin' to me yet, though.
[He was cruisin' for a fucking bruisin', and he knew it. Being obnoxious was just so entertaining.]
They be sayin' anything at yourself, motherfucker? ...You even got room to be hearing them?
no subject
When Gamzee turned around, Richtofen backed up a few steps, then moved to stand beside him at the table. The question had immediately had him on the defensive.]
Who told you about the- I- I mean.
[He brought a hand to his mouth and cleared his throat, side-eyeing Gamzee. His fingers twitched with longing to reach out and touch some of the beakers, but he forced himself to hold back.]
Of course I do. Why wouldn't I? Not- Not that I would hear any of the undoubtedly ridiculous voices you have in your head, of course.
no subject
[Stuttering, victimless insults, arguing with yourself, silent internal struggle shown on the face. It almost made Gamzee want to laugh. And so he did laugh.]
Who fuckin' told you 'bout them?
[He grinned. Hey, at least he made light of his disgusting, parasitic, manipulative voices. Richtofen could stand to lose the denial. His eyes returned, once more, to the blood. It seemed stupid, saying any more about it, especially to Richtofen. There wasn't a lot the man could use against him if he did speak up, though, so he really didn't give too much of a shit.]
Where all do you motherfuckin' think we be going when we leave here? You don't be really thinkin' they just send you the motherfuck back all fresh and wicked spankin' new, do you?
no subject
I have been inside that head of yours. That is how.
[He snapped his hand back to his side quickly enough, in time to fix Gamzee with a confused glare at his question. His brow furrowed; he didn't want to think about going back to his world, not after he'd just returned to the Tower. (And the fact that the Tower had turned into the preferable option made him absolutely sick to his stomach.)]
What do you mean? Why are you asking this?
no subject
[Anyway.]
[As soon as Gamzee had asked that question, he'd regretted opening up such a pointless and confusing can of worms. He made some noises with his mouth, sucking on his lip until the spit between his teeth made a high-pitched kissing noise.]
'Cause why on would all them motherfuckers be gettin' their care going such to that much of a fucking degree? It don't make no sense, the whole "sadistic benefactor" thing.
[He paused.]
'Less they all be depending on us gettin' a hivemind Stockhull Syndrome goin'.
[That was the troll version of Stockholm Syndrome. Just go with it. He knew big words, it just was a lot of effort to say them all sometimes. He rested his hands on the table for support. Thinking this much was draining.]
no subject
...There are many ways to deal with a test subject.
[As he spoke, he began to walk away. He trailed his fingertips over various equipment in the lab - the switches for the burners underneath the blood vials, the base of a microscope, a tiny container of liquid that glowed a sickly green and had an indistinguishable label.]
You can... tie them up. You can keep them locked in a room with very little light, und starve them, und beat them, und wait until they are so afraid of the pain that they submit to you willingly, out of fear if nothing else...
[He plucked an unlabeled slide out of a box, held it up to the light, and smiled. A satisfied little hum escaped his lips.]
...Or you can treat them well. [He chuckled and put the slide back.] That was never my preferred method. This thing, this- this trust barrier is said to be very useful in dealing with the more rowdy subjects.
[The way he wrinkled his nose and waved a hand around made it clear that he had no idea how a person's sense of trust worked at all. His view of the concept was far from human, more objective and scientific than anything else.]
But, theoretically, if you show a subject kindness - make them feel secure when they are not being used - then they will be less likely to resent you. [A few feet away from Gamzee, he gave a smile that didn't reach his eyes.] They will have hope. Furthermore, you will be the only home they've got. Und if they are not being tortured all the time, not in pain completely, then who are they to try to leave?
[He looked away and shrugged.]
...That is the idea, anyway.