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[Someone is feeling lonely and depressed and just... oh just about every flavor of 'not good' in the book that a robot can feel. If he had a stomach it would be in knots right now.

It's... been an unpleasant time here. The damage on his face is clear enough, with the one blue eye constantly flickering out. He gives his head a sharp rap and it flickers back on again, but there's no smile into the terminal right now.

He just wants to try and cheer himself up]

H-hey. Does anyone he-he-here wanna song? I gotta few s-s-songs if ya wanna hear 'em.

[No accordion, none of the songs he wanted to sing needed it anyway. He was kind of taking Legolas's advice and doing what he likes to do anyway.]

It's a re-re-real sweet one. Nuthin' t-too loud 'r nuthin.

[He hums a few bars, before going into the piece, the tune just a little bit more mournful than usual.]

...

I-i-if ya want any other s-songs, I got more. Wou-wouldn't mind s-singin' 'em fer someone if they wanna hear it.

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I a-a-ain't ju-junk.

[But there's not a lot of oomph behind the words. He's not up for an argument right now, he just wants to sing.

He scuffs the ground with a foot, half leaning over the terminal]

I wa-wa-was made ta sing. It's what I'm supposed ta d-do. 'Course I'd be g-good at it.

[Gamzee's not one for compassion, but if Rabbit wants to sing as a form of catharsis, he'll definitely be a willing audience. He'd poured his tea into an empty Faygo bottle, and after taking another swig of the steamy concoction, he made a quite displeased face before returning the bottle to the terminal desk and addressing Rabbit again.]

Motherfucking made for it? That's all kinds of fuckin' wicked cocky, you ass.

[He grinned, scratching at his ear with an overgrown claw. He probably looked like shit. He didn't care.]

What about motherfuckin' throwin' down them sick beats, huh? Ever get your slam on with another motherfucker? Get the rhymes flowin' like a gangsta flyin' fuckin' straight up outta the slayborhood?

[He couldn't think of anything else that would improve his mood. Everyone he knew was apparently dead, he was all by himself here, all he had left was his music. As long as Gamzee wasn't openly insulting him, he saw no reason to make a fuss. Even the hunk of junk comment managed to pass by with barely any kind of argument.]

It's t-t-true. I wa-was made ta ma-make music, it's wha-what I do best.

[It's fine, Rabbit certainly doesn't look his best either, battered and dented.]

... Ya me-mean rap? I uh... d-don't do that kinda mu-music, buddy. I can rhyme just fine though.

[Gamzee visibly wilted, throwing his feet up on either side of the monitor, now. The bottle of tea rested on his belly, and he'd shift around every now and again when his position upset his already nauseated stomach.]

Then this brother just all gotta be up and teachin' you the wicked word, my clunky metal ninja.

[He tapped the toe of his sneaker against the side of the monitor, sending a tap-tap-tap noise through the mic.]

If you can fuckin' rhyme, you can fuckin' rap, yo. Just gotta spin the righteous shit and step up the BPM dial to motherfuckin' harshnasty on all the bitches asses!

[He seemed to perk back up throwing his arms in the air as he talked.]

Come on, you all gotta be wantin' a little variety in your gig, ain't you?

[Sorry, Gamzee. He doesn't even like rap. Do you know how old school he is? Bobby Darren was still popular last he checked. He only knows one song from the 80's.]

I-I don't know, bu-buddy. We got a pretty particular c-crowd back at h-h-home. Rappin' would ki-kinda be outside of the group.

We're m-more alternative an' acoustic. Ca-can't really ra-rap ta a steampunk crowd.

[What's the 80's? Who's Bobby Darren? Gamzee's from another fucking planet, I think the musical ignorance is mutual, here. However, he won't be at all thrilled when he finds out about your dislike for rap.]

Well you ain't motherfucking at home no more, is you?

[Just going to ignore the fact that he has no idea what the fuck a "steampunk crowd" is.]

Come on, I'd bet my motherfuckin' boonies on all what you'd be, like, being all up and a killer fuckin' rapbot, probably.

[BUT HE DOESN'T LIKE RAP]

It a-a-ain't re-really my style, see. I'm old fa-fashioned I guess.

[If you look at him, you'd notice this.]

I li-like lo-love songs an' guitars. I d-d-don't think ra-rappin' would really go along well with those two things.

Ain't nu-nuthin' wrong with it.

[His dislike was baseless and he knew it]

Ju-just ain't fer me.

[GAMZEE DOESN'T LIKE TAKING NO FOR AN ANSWER. You will learn to love rap one day, Rabbit. You will. He scrunched his face up in consideration.]

Ain't nothin' wrong with all the fuckin' shit you be into, neither. Answer me this, though, bro.

What all if the song dude was up at being a motherfuckin' love rap with a wicked fuckin' guitar in the bg?

[Yes, he said "bee-gee".]

Come on, your tin ass gotta budge motherfucking somewhere. Acoustic rap, ain't nothin' of what usually be fuckin' done. More like old school shit - even gangster rap can get old school, my brother.

[His new goal in life was to have this guy throw down some sick... acoustic... love-themed... beats.]

[YOU ARE ASKING TOO MUCH OF HIM SIR. He'll play Justin Beiber tunes before he raps a single line!]

... It'd be ki-ki-kinda we-weird. I thought ra-rappin' was about other things. L-like cappin' hoes an' puttin' metal on your teeth.

I'm n-n-not really educated on r-rap, man. I d-d-don't listen ta it.

[Nope. Nope. Not happening. You'll have to kill him first.]

[Well, if that's what it takes... Gamzee did let out a loud, honking laugh at "cappin' hoes", though. It lasted a few moments before it died off and left Gamzee squirming uncomfortably in his seat.]

Heh heh heh, urghh...

[He took a few moments to settle his stomach, sipping at that nasty drink ruefully.]

A motherfucker can all be slamming about whatever the fuck be resonating at all what his fuckin' pump biscuit be all telling in him strong, you dig?

Ain't restricted to pimpin' bitches and rollin' in the boonies, yo. Though that be a motherfuckin' sweet topic all in its motherfucking self.

[He grinned. He knew Rabbit was reluctant to talk any rap business, but it was entertaining making people uncomfortable.]

You be a little motherfuckin' set in your damn ways, ain't you?

Y-y-yeah well it's in my particular 'pump biscuit' t-t-to not rap. I ain't g-good at it. Who ever he-heard of a rappin' r-robut anyway?

[So yes, yes he was rather set in his ways on this one. Rabbit was many things, but a rapper was not one of them]

I just d-don't think I'd be a-any g-good at it! It ain't fer me!

God damn you be a stubborn-ass motherfucker!

[Gamzee shook his head, then immediately regretted the action. It made his headache about ten times worse. Groaning, he rubbed a hand against his temple.]

A'ight, dog. Maybe what all a brother needing to all be doing is to all motherfuckin' get his extend on of the ol' olive branch, you dig?

What can you be teaching me 'bout all the stuff that's what the jams what you all get the fuck down with, huh?

[Hell yes he's stubborn. There's a puff of steam from the 'bot as Gamzee finally breaks down and decides to ask him about his music]

It's g-g-gotta have h-heart in it. Real nice stuff, even if it's ki-kinda silly. All true st-stories too, an' they g-gotta be good ones. Though there's nu-nuthin' wrong about writin' a song about takin' yer dog fer a walk.

Ju-just as long as ya make it interestin'.

[Gamzee ponders this for a moment. It's a little different than rap, but it's the same in that it needs a subject to base the whole thing around. Though, rapping can, and oftentimes does, deviate from the original subject.]

So... you gotta have a story? Can't be all fuckin' using just somethin' like, yappin' your motherfucking maw off 'bout an object or, like, a motherfuckin' feeling?

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