["With the Orange Team" was an interesting and unpredictable little item on Gamzee's list of places he wanted to be. Seemingly always at dead last on the list, it had made a stunning climb towards the top recently, as all of his comrades and relationships had been swiftly eradicated from the tower.]
[He hadn't spoken nearly as much, though his attendance had improved tenfold. If approached, he was every bit as caustic and aggressive as he had been previously, but his inspiration for instigation had definitely taken a nosedive.]
[The boy was hunched over a desk still in the thick of the group, though he paid little attention to anything coming out of Richtofen's mouth. He had a stack of papers in front of him, scattered messily over the surface of the table. If there was a rhyme or reason to the different piles he'd sorted them into, it wasn't apparent.]
[The large, horizontal pupils of his yellow eyes flicked lazily over whatever forms he seemed to be filling in, claws of the same hue scratching up the side of his already chewed-on pen. Paperwork was the only thing he seemed to be able to get himself to do these past few days. Littered on the floor were only a few crumpled-up pieces, where he'd written so hard he'd torn the page, or where he'd taken a particularly aggressive nibble off of one of the corners. In fact, most of the papers in his "good" stack were slobbered and bitten on in some way or another.]
[Pausing briefly from his work, as if he'd only just noticed a meeting had been called, the points of Gamzee's ears flicked a bit, and he lifted the large, messy snarl he called a head. Introductions? The only thing that needed to be known were his position in this stupid gaggle of blithering idiots.]
Motherfuckin' transcriptions.
[He leaned back a little in his chair, throwing an elbow over the backrest and tossing the pen he'd been using back on to the desk.]
You science bitches get all up to all be having them nifty little discoveries motherfucking made, you give them dingy stuffy lab sheets all handed at my wicked direction, and I'm all be turning that piss-tittied cluckbeastscratch into something what's all much motherfuckin' more legible.
[He frowned.]
Don't even get your mother fucking argue on at it. I know every one you bitches got trouble making your god damn letters.
[Neglecting to give his name was more out of forgetfulness than anything. Who needed a name to hand someone a piece of fucking paper? Besides, he was pretty sure being the only one on this team (or in the fucking Tower now, for that matter) with giant, candy-colored horns sprouting from his head made him sort of recognizable.]
no subject
[He hadn't spoken nearly as much, though his attendance had improved tenfold. If approached, he was every bit as caustic and aggressive as he had been previously, but his inspiration for instigation had definitely taken a nosedive.]
[The boy was hunched over a desk still in the thick of the group, though he paid little attention to anything coming out of Richtofen's mouth. He had a stack of papers in front of him, scattered messily over the surface of the table. If there was a rhyme or reason to the different piles he'd sorted them into, it wasn't apparent.]
[The large, horizontal pupils of his yellow eyes flicked lazily over whatever forms he seemed to be filling in, claws of the same hue scratching up the side of his already chewed-on pen. Paperwork was the only thing he seemed to be able to get himself to do these past few days. Littered on the floor were only a few crumpled-up pieces, where he'd written so hard he'd torn the page, or where he'd taken a particularly aggressive nibble off of one of the corners. In fact, most of the papers in his "good" stack were slobbered and bitten on in some way or another.]
[Pausing briefly from his work, as if he'd only just noticed a meeting had been called, the points of Gamzee's ears flicked a bit, and he lifted the large, messy snarl he called a head. Introductions? The only thing that needed to be known were his position in this stupid gaggle of blithering idiots.]
Motherfuckin' transcriptions.
[He leaned back a little in his chair, throwing an elbow over the backrest and tossing the pen he'd been using back on to the desk.]
You science bitches get all up to all be having them nifty little discoveries motherfucking made, you give them dingy stuffy lab sheets all handed at my wicked direction, and I'm all be turning that piss-tittied cluckbeastscratch into something what's all much motherfuckin' more legible.
[He frowned.]
Don't even get your mother fucking argue on at it. I know every one you bitches got trouble making your god damn letters.
[Neglecting to give his name was more out of forgetfulness than anything. Who needed a name to hand someone a piece of fucking paper? Besides, he was pretty sure being the only one on this team (or in the fucking Tower now, for that matter) with giant, candy-colored horns sprouting from his head made him sort of recognizable.]