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
[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.