![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ic inbox
WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, GAMZEE MAKARA. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 420.42.042.04 *** G-MAK has joined 420.42.042.04 <G-MAK> YO, MY RIGHTEOUS BROTHERS AND GODDAMN BITCHES. <G-MAK> if you all is wanting to be all placing at a mother fucking order with me. <G-MAK> LEAVE AT A BROTHER SOME WICKED FUCKING TEXTUALS. <G-MAK> oh and another motherfuckin thing. <G-MAK> SEXTS IS ALWAYS FUCKIN WELCOME. ;o) | ||||
no subject
Heh heh heh, sorry, bro. Ain't knowin' that shit were a motherfuckin' sore subject for you.
[In response to Stan's question, he opened his mouth to mention that some of the marijuana seemed to possess a different amount of psychedelics in them than others, but soon closed his mouth again in favor of "hmm"ing quietly. Better to not scare away the customer before he made the sale.]
Not all what I can motherfuckin' be sayin' I do, brother of mine. All the plants what ain't the pointy leafs be havin' some sort of the same motherfuckin' effect no matter what the fuck they all look like, but the leafs be the strongest ones.
[In other words, everything that grew out of him was laced with THC: the passion flowers, the seaweed, his blood, his sap, even the branches growing from his scalp. Obviously the most potently laced was the marijuana, so that's all that he sold.]
Why? You wanna be signing your ass up for the goddamn newsletter if all somethin' else poke itself the fuck outta me!?
no subject
It’s called variety. [ He says, turning to look around the room. ] Could actually expand your business if you play your cards right. [ What he’d really been hoping for was poison, something strong enough to knock out not just man but beast as well. There wasn’t much on the market and stealing it from a naga or nymph was a last resort for Stan. The consequence of thieving hands could be quite costly; the crystal he'd taken from a troll worth nothing compared to what it had lost him in the long run. Now that had been a bad investment.
Stan rests his gaze on the couch, wrinkling his nose at the smell that comes from it. ] Ugh. [ Getting the smell of this place out of his clothes was going to be worse than removing that Gideon smell from the carpet. ] Lets just see what you got.
no subject
[Gamzee ignored the scowls and scoffs effortlessly, gliding around the living room happily, sorting through the mounds of clutter on the coffee table until he procured a rather large, plastic sandwich bag full of weed.]
One oh-zee, like all you was requesting. Five motherfuckin' gold takes this little bitch the fuck home, though if a motherfucker be all getting his remember on correctly, you was wanting a goddamn test drive before you toss that bank up all at my way, yeah?
[He collapsed back onto the couch, pulling a mushroom-shaped bong off of the floor and beginning to pack a bowl with weed from a different bag.]
Hope you a fuckin' friend of the wicked bubbly-bubbly, old man...
no subject
The table exhibits little of interest, the accumulated litter reminding him of the floor after Summerween (wrappers and gum that’d lost its flavor sprawled in front the television) before he finds the bag Gamzee produced. It's been awhile but it looks about right for an... oh-zee. He'd moved product by the pound, bricks the best packaging technique when it came to squeezing the most into a small space. When smuggling illegal plants across the border, the smaller the space one could hide something the better. ]
Good lord, they teach you yoots any English these days? [ He asks, sitting to the left of Gamzee while he readies the bowl. Motherfuckers wishing at… Motherfuckers? What did that even mean? ] Yeah, I’m familiar with it. [ That’s what he was asking, right? If he knew how to use a bubbler? ]
no subject
[Gamzee laughs, settling back on the couch and pulling the bong into his lap. This old guy was a riot. He hadn't ever gotten a chance to hang out with one of the shrively ancient humans. Stan was ornery and hard to please, and that was just the recipe for someone Gamzee would find endlessly amusing.]
[He flicked the lighter a few times before it lit, and started waving it towards the bowl before he stopped, sitting up abruptly and relinquishing the thing to Stan. He looked a little sheepish.]
Fuck, yo... guests is mother fucking first...
no subject
Holding out his hand, a flame is brought to life in his palm and moved around the bowl. He takes a long drag, feeding the fire and pulling the smoke from the bowl until he removes it entirely. A sharp breath clears the remaining smoke before he places the bong down. He holds the hit, closes his eyes and sits for a moment in silence, smile spreading across his features.
Stan slowly exhales as he sinks back into the couch. Then opens his eyes, wide in surprise to find he's sitting in something sticky. And smelly. The elder frowns. ] ... This better not be what I think it is. [ That is, whatever it is he's sitting in. ]
no subject
Shit, bro, you really isn't all motherfuckin' talk! Hahaha!
[He doesn't expect a response, as talking while your lungs are being ransacked by hot smoke isn't exactly the easiest task in the world. His train of thought is completely discarded, though, when Stan shoots him an accusatory glare, and Gamzee realizes the elderly fire-monster-thing had accidentally sunk back into...]
Oh-- uh... it's just fuckin' some sap, is all... ain't no thang, brother.
[Hopefully this guy was high enough now not to get too upset...]
no subject
Though unfavourable, there are other methods of getting out. Were it necessary, he could torch the entire couch, much like he would his clothes after this. ]
How much of this shit do you leak? [ He asks, holding the bong out for Gamzee. It may have lined the nymph’s teeth but to cover the couch to this extent he can only begin to imagine what other orifices it came out of. ]
And pass me that bag. [ Stan points at the 'oh-zee' the nymph had set out for him. Unlike his habitat, Gamzee’s product proved quite exceptional. Taste lingering in his mouth, the elder dares say it’s unlike anything he’s experienced. Smoking people was surprisingly satisfying. ] Stuff’s pretty good. What’s the harvest like?
no subject
[His eyes become suggestive slits, sliding a wayward glance towards the goblin. That was all he was gonna say on the matter unless prompted further. He was sure Stan could fill in the blanks himself if he really wanted to. He takes the bong gratefully, picking up the lighter that Stan had neglected to use and flicking it a few times to get a flame lit.]
Ah, ah, ah...!
[Just by holding the lighter, he could feel the singe of his skin through the plastic. A normal human wouldn't even bat an eye or feel any degree of discomfort, but being so close to something producing fire was enough to cause Gamzee's fingers and palm to sting with the pain of an oncoming burn. He always had to light his bowl lightning-quick and toss away the lighter before he himself caught fire.]
No worries to be fuckin' had, my most wickedest of motherfuckers, soon as us gangstas get this crib all smoked up, my friendly plant goop be gettin' toked enough to be all less clingy than all what's it fuckin' is now...
[In other words, smoke weakened the effects of Gamzee's sap. Blow a few lungfuls of the stuff against an epoxied surface, and it should get loose enough to be able to tug free. Or, just smoke a bunch in a room and let the smoke-filled air do the work for you. He settled back, sucking the smoke from the bong until a nice cloud of smoke build up in the chamber. Pulling his head back, he slapped his palm over the mouthpiece and turned to Stan.]
Cough, cough... Ain't motherfuckin' nothin' to write... goddamn home on, that's for... cough, cough... motherfuckin' sure... heh heh...
[Leaning forward, he grabbed the top of the Ziploc from the coffee table and tossed it towards the man's lap before uncovering the top of the bong, pulling the bowl, and cashing in on the rest of his hit.]
Gotta... pull the fuckers out by the goddamn bulb... cough, cough...
[He held his arms out for Stan to gaze upon. Green and freckled with white like the rest of him, only they were absolutely covered in pock marks, purple scabs, and tiny, new buds. To harvest his weed, he had to literally uproot the leaves from his skin. It was a messy, painful affair, but he had all of the painkillers he could ever hope for.]
no subject
Leaning back into the couch, he inspects the bag in his lap and weighs it with his hand. There's enough crystal looking up at him to leave a man blind. And that’s the problem. Numbers crunching in his head, clouding his judgement and testing his will, the goblin feels greed slowly consume his thoughts. He never considered it, a man driven by money for years, but now he wonders… Had he always been so adamant about money? It felt like all he could ever think about these days, even with a head full of smoke.
Maybe is mind wasn’t as safe as he once thought.
Stan sits in silence, his face reflecting the deeper level of thought he's fallen to till Gamzee’s coughs brings him back. Only a nymph with a death wish kept a flame that close. Or an elderly fire-monster-thing for that matter. He gets the gist of Gamzee's words, though. He has to smoke his way to freedom. Sounds like a joke.
He doesn't look at Gamzee, his voice low and humourless when he speaks. ] You set yourself on fire yet? All that sap in you… Be a surprise you don’t explode. [ There's a beat, the elder holding that serious demeanor for a moment before he bursts into laughter. ]
no subject
[Fortunately for Gamzee, his mind wasn't as clouded by his transformation as Stan's was. He wasn't obsessed with money, or trinkets, or anything that sparkled in the light. He was naturally drawn to all of those things, sure, but it wasn't an imposing obsession like it was with goblins - not that Gamzee had any idea about that. Stan was a savvy businessman, or, at least, he was as far as Gamzee was concerned. He also was a pretty decent guy, all things considered. He agreed to hang out and smoke with a brother, despite being sort of an ornery grouch about it. It was the thought that counted, and any sort of company was good company to Gamzee.]
Uhh, yeah... a lotta times, bro.
[He chuckled sheepishly, staring down at his budding arms. More often than not, they were covered in bandages from having burst into flames. If even one part of him touched fire, his limbs would light up instantly. He'd gotten pretty good about smothering them as quickly as possible, but it still left his skin black and charred and incredibly sensitive for the rest of the day. Monster healing took care of the burns pretty much overnight, so there was no trace of his "accident" the next morning.]
Ain't never been so 'fraid of nothin' in my motherfuckin' life now what that I am of some bitchass fire, now. Weak as fuckin' a shit-titted grubfucker, that noise all motherfucking is-- HONK!!
[Stan's sudden explosion of laughter startles the shit out of Gamzee, who practically jumps a few feet off of the couch before succumbing to a fit of giggles, himself. He cannot believe that sound just came out of that old man. Doubling over on himself, he clutched at his stomach and continued to wheeze out laughter that sounded much like a dying goose.]
no subject
That's funny.
[ Turning his attention back to the bag in his hand, Stan tucks it into his jacket and slides two bills onto the table. He feels... good. Really good. He can't seem to get this stupid grin off his face, the nymphs company becoming almost somewhat enjoyable, even if he doesn't understand half the things he says. Stan spares him a final glance. ]
If you die there I'm robbing you of everything but this couch. [ He's joking; he wouldn't take everything, just most of it.
Satisfied, the goblin closes his eyes and takes in a final breath of smoke before falling back into the the shadows. A thick, tar like substance crawls up through the couch and latches hold of him, slowly pulling him into darkness. It crawls up his body, consuming him form until nothing remains but a shadow in his place. The shadow slides down the couch and moves along the floor, stretching impossible bounds and twisting in ways Stan hadn't since the fifty's. It bumps into the table, the furniture shifting to the side on contact, and moves for the door. A perfect silhouette of the goblin forms on the wall, a clawed hand seen reaching for the keyhole before it slips through and disappears. ]