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[grandhighblood]

I'll be all getting my truth on about this noise.
SACRIFICING BLOOD ALL UP TO THE MOTHERFUCKING MESSIAHS IS FINE.
Real motherfucking fine.
BUT.
Motherfucking but.
IT DOESN'T MOTHERFUCKING DO NOTHING FOR ME WHEN I'M ALL FINISHED.
All work and no play all makes this brother a motherfucking bored ass troll.

Anyone wish to be all playing
A MOTHERFUCKING GAME?
>:o)

Comments

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[chronomancer]

[Eridan made a low sound as he was shaken again. Yeah, that. He did not say, because he was busy trying to gather his wits. Trying hard not to puke is actually kind of an effort. Having puked all over one Capricorn in the tower is more than enough for him, honest.

He ends up staring up at the highblood, glasses held in one hand as he blinks at the little hemospectrum rant. Given how he doesn't know who Her Imperiousness is, there's a bit less of a sting to the whole affair. Though, for all his fumbling, Eridan recognizes the Capricorn sign.

Welp.]

...is Her Imperiousness the Empreeeeeee---

[The small question died a sudden, painful death as he was dropped. On his head. He crumpled on the ground for a moment before he reached out to feel his horns, hoping against all hope that they weren't broken.]

Ow.

[He doesn't glare. He doesn't run. He's well aware he can't. So he's going to slide his glasses back on and try to gather some aplomb out of all this panic. Not an easy task, to be honest, there's a lot of heavy dread slowly weighting down his bones like lead and no real reason to not melt into a quivering mess, except the memory of Dualscar slowly replaying in the back of his mind. Not looking forward to committing that mistake over again, no. Still rubbing at the base of one of his horns, Eridan looks up at the older troll warily.]

Fucked up sad mess sums it up pretty well, sir.