sEvEn | AcTiOn, pHoNe
[action; 1338 Benny]
[He's the last one in the household to get hit by the drug. He hadn't meant to eat it, not really, but it's been one hell of a day and he'd been tired and confused and just a little bit hurt by some of his friends' behaviors, so he hadn't really been thinking when he'd absently popped one of the mushrooms in his mouth before remembering oh shit didn't Feferi say not to--
The world constricts, then shatters.
He manages to stumble to his respiteblock, shutting the door behind him out of an instinctual knowledge that he really doesn't want to be around other people right now (or maybe it's that they shouldn't be around him) before sinking to the floor, hands over his ears as he tries to shut out the voices screaming in his head. Except there probably aren't even any other people around, they've probably already left like everyone always leaves and he's alone, alone in this too-big hive with the too-big sea right outside, a vast expanse of nothing and no one and...
good. it's just us now.
LIKE HOW IT WAS MOTHERFUCKING MEANT TO BE ALL THE MOTHERFUCKING LONG.]
No, go away, I don't want -- I gotta find --
[find who, brother?
AIN'T EVER BEEN ANY MOTHERFUCKERS AROUND BUT OURSELVES.]
That ain't true, I've got friends -- Karkat, Jade...
[motherfucking lowbloods and disgusting worms.
WE ARE HIGHER THAN ANY OF THEM, MOTHERFUCKER.
none of them ever liked you anyway. always looking down on a brother, never understanding who we were.
NEVER UNDERSTANDING THEIR MOTHERFUCKING PLACE.
so let's bring them an enlightenment.
AND PUT ON THE MOTHERFUCKING DARKEST OF CARNIVALS THAT THEY'LL HAVE TO PAY ATTENTION TO.]
Stop it, that ain't any type of miracle I wanna be a part of--
[His claws bite into his arms, gouging out bright indigo scratches as his voice abruptly cracks between a low murmur and a shout.]
miracles, miracles, you need to shut your motherfucking piehole about miracles BECAUSE THE ONLY MOTHERFUCKING MIRACLES THAT EXIST ARE THE ONES WE CREATE. your stupid messiahs that you pray to are fakey fakes FAKEY FAKES THAT NO ONE BELIEVES IN AND YOU MOTHERFUCKING KNOW IT. we are the messiahs. WE ARE THE MOTHERFUCKING GODS OF THIS WORLD and we will carve out our own paradise planet in blood.
[His miracle modus abruptly flashes into existence, bright and terrible, and he slowly reaches for the clubs he still has stored there, already able to feel their satisfying weight in his hands...then pauses. Some of his pies are jumping around in the chaotic mess as well, and his eyes dart between them and the clubs hungrily, torn between what he wants and what he wants.]
don't you dare DON'T YOU MOTHERFUCKING DARE--
[He snatches at the pie and there's a brief moment where he seems to struggle with an invisible foe, locked between pushing the pie away and pulling it towards him before he viciously yanks it back and starts devouring it. The first bite is the hardest, but the voices get more bearable after that even as they're howling at him in fury stop that you idiot THAT SHIT WILL ROT YOUR PAN EVEN WORSE THAN IT ALREADY HAS might as well cull yourself now and SAVE EVERYONE THE MOTHERFUCKING TROUBLE--
He tosses the empty tin aside, grabs another one and inhales it even as the dizziness hits him hard and his head starts swimming. It doesn't feel right though - usually, he only needs a slice before the floating bliss starts and the world dissolves into bright colors, but he's already gone through two whole tins and all he feels is cold and sick to his digestive sac. It's a higher dosage of sopor than he's ever had in one sitting, but the voices and fear and awful urges haven't gone away yet, and maybe they will if he just has a little more...and a little more...and a little more....
Housemates can find Gamzee in his room surrounded by empty pie tins, sitting against the wall and staring at the ceiling with glazed, dilated eyes. Although he's breathing pretty fast, he's not very responsive, too busy listening to himself scream in rage as he pounds his fists against green fog in the recesses of his mind.]
[phone; the morning after shroomfield]
[The great thing about consuming all that sopor in one sitting? He doesn't remember a thing about what happened to him the next morning, other than a few flashes here and there that he ignores.]
'Suuuuuuup, motherfuckers, is everyone being all back to normal yet? Uhhh...I am still pretty sure I didn't cull anyone, so if we can stop saying that now, that would just be the motherfuckin' bitchtits.
Anyway, does anyone know what the motherfuck a paper boy's supposed to all be at? Because the town says I'm one, but I ain't made out of paper. I think.
[He's the last one in the household to get hit by the drug. He hadn't meant to eat it, not really, but it's been one hell of a day and he'd been tired and confused and just a little bit hurt by some of his friends' behaviors, so he hadn't really been thinking when he'd absently popped one of the mushrooms in his mouth before remembering oh shit didn't Feferi say not to--
The world constricts, then shatters.
He manages to stumble to his respiteblock, shutting the door behind him out of an instinctual knowledge that he really doesn't want to be around other people right now (or maybe it's that they shouldn't be around him) before sinking to the floor, hands over his ears as he tries to shut out the voices screaming in his head. Except there probably aren't even any other people around, they've probably already left like everyone always leaves and he's alone, alone in this too-big hive with the too-big sea right outside, a vast expanse of nothing and no one and...
good. it's just us now.
LIKE HOW IT WAS MOTHERFUCKING MEANT TO BE ALL THE MOTHERFUCKING LONG.]
No, go away, I don't want -- I gotta find --
[find who, brother?
AIN'T EVER BEEN ANY MOTHERFUCKERS AROUND BUT OURSELVES.]
That ain't true, I've got friends -- Karkat, Jade...
[motherfucking lowbloods and disgusting worms.
WE ARE HIGHER THAN ANY OF THEM, MOTHERFUCKER.
none of them ever liked you anyway. always looking down on a brother, never understanding who we were.
NEVER UNDERSTANDING THEIR MOTHERFUCKING PLACE.
so let's bring them an enlightenment.
AND PUT ON THE MOTHERFUCKING DARKEST OF CARNIVALS THAT THEY'LL HAVE TO PAY ATTENTION TO.]
Stop it, that ain't any type of miracle I wanna be a part of--
[His claws bite into his arms, gouging out bright indigo scratches as his voice abruptly cracks between a low murmur and a shout.]
miracles, miracles, you need to shut your motherfucking piehole about miracles BECAUSE THE ONLY MOTHERFUCKING MIRACLES THAT EXIST ARE THE ONES WE CREATE. your stupid messiahs that you pray to are fakey fakes FAKEY FAKES THAT NO ONE BELIEVES IN AND YOU MOTHERFUCKING KNOW IT. we are the messiahs. WE ARE THE MOTHERFUCKING GODS OF THIS WORLD and we will carve out our own paradise planet in blood.
[His miracle modus abruptly flashes into existence, bright and terrible, and he slowly reaches for the clubs he still has stored there, already able to feel their satisfying weight in his hands...then pauses. Some of his pies are jumping around in the chaotic mess as well, and his eyes dart between them and the clubs hungrily, torn between what he wants and what he wants.]
don't you dare DON'T YOU MOTHERFUCKING DARE--
[He snatches at the pie and there's a brief moment where he seems to struggle with an invisible foe, locked between pushing the pie away and pulling it towards him before he viciously yanks it back and starts devouring it. The first bite is the hardest, but the voices get more bearable after that even as they're howling at him in fury stop that you idiot THAT SHIT WILL ROT YOUR PAN EVEN WORSE THAN IT ALREADY HAS might as well cull yourself now and SAVE EVERYONE THE MOTHERFUCKING TROUBLE--
He tosses the empty tin aside, grabs another one and inhales it even as the dizziness hits him hard and his head starts swimming. It doesn't feel right though - usually, he only needs a slice before the floating bliss starts and the world dissolves into bright colors, but he's already gone through two whole tins and all he feels is cold and sick to his digestive sac. It's a higher dosage of sopor than he's ever had in one sitting, but the voices and fear and awful urges haven't gone away yet, and maybe they will if he just has a little more...and a little more...and a little more....
Housemates can find Gamzee in his room surrounded by empty pie tins, sitting against the wall and staring at the ceiling with glazed, dilated eyes. Although he's breathing pretty fast, he's not very responsive, too busy listening to himself scream in rage as he pounds his fists against green fog in the recesses of his mind.]
[phone; the morning after shroomfield]
[The great thing about consuming all that sopor in one sitting? He doesn't remember a thing about what happened to him the next morning, other than a few flashes here and there that he ignores.]
'Suuuuuuup, motherfuckers, is everyone being all back to normal yet? Uhhh...I am still pretty sure I didn't cull anyone, so if we can stop saying that now, that would just be the motherfuckin' bitchtits.
Anyway, does anyone know what the motherfuck a paper boy's supposed to all be at? Because the town says I'm one, but I ain't made out of paper. I think.