♑ & ♒ > Help, I can't get this seaman off my clown.

[420]

Who: Gamzee Makara and Eridan Ampora and possibly Karkat Vantas.
Where: Eridan and Karkat's house.
When: About five minutes before Eridan's favourite show is about to start.
Style: ][
Status: Closed.


[So far Gamzee has been blissfully unaware of the curse. This is not special. Gamzee is blissfully unaware of a lot of things. Did you know that thingy on the end of your shoe lace is called an aglet? Gamzee doesn't.

Anyway, blissed out and blissfully unaware of things, Gamzee strolls across the street to Eridan and Karkat's hive, DVD in hand. Karkat has forbidden him, with many impressive threats of physical violence, to ever put one of his DVDs in his sylladex. Something about not wanting to lose them. Which Gamzee thought was pretty silly cause Karkat got a whole pile of other DVDs to watch if one got stuck for a lil' while, but he can roll with it.

So yeah, he got a Thresh Prince DVD in one clowny mitt, a sunny smile on his face and no worries in the world, as he strolls up to the door of Karkat and Eridan's hive, ringing the door chime.]

Comments

[420]

[Gamzee gives him a look, before setting down his faygo for a moment and reaches over to press his fingers to Eridan's lips.]

No. Shoosh. Quell what noise be flowing all unabided from your word hole, my brother. It's miracles. Straight-up, broad-sided miracles.

[unconchonable]

Gam--

[And now there are fingers on his mouth. There are clown fingers on his mouth. There are possibly dirty, clown fingers on his mouth. Nope. Nopenopenopenopenopenopenope!!!]

[Eridan flails his arm, the one connected to Gamzee's other hand, and lets out a few aggravated snarls and quite possibly is aiming to hit that hand with the spine of his book.]

Keep your filthy fuckin' PRONGS off my MOUTH, or next time I'll chomp them clean off!

[Except, he won't, because again he has no idea where those filthy butt-scratchers have been!]

[420]

[These are the fingers that have been on Equius' sweaty ass. Through clothes! But still.]

Woah, aight, aight, cool your anger-jets.

[He pulls back, resuming his early position, dropping his hand back to his lap again.]

See, we cool. We fuckin' chill here.

[unconchonable]

[He eyes him, long and hard...]

[Then he turns back to his book.]

We're cool so long as you keep your fuckin' prongs to yourself--that is, as much as you are able to, considerin' the current circumstance.

[420]

I like bein' cool with you.

[After which he lapses into silence. If Eridan doesn't keep the conversation going, Gamzee is more than happy to sit there, staring slightly glazed into nothing, occasionally sipping from his bottle of faygo (with his unstuck hand, of course) until all of the sugar drink is gone down his clowny gullet.]