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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) | ||||
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[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.]
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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. ]