taxonomites | [oo1: video]

His first thought, blooming in the back of his mind as he pushes out his first breath of stale air, goes to the Retinal Resorts. Some matrix bullshit, hypnosis. Something. Fun Ghoul stands on the raised platform, perfectly still aside from the involuntarily twitch of his fingers as they hang at his sides. It's so cold. It's a long few minutes of stillness as he listens and looks.

Finally, his hand twitches up to thumb the gun in his double-breasted holster. In an environment like this, he can't believe his hosts let him keep his--

"Fuck." The familiar hum of building charge--there's nothing there. The gun is dead. Fun Ghoul's gaze snaps back over his shoulder. It scrapes around the round room, almost sharp enough to squeal against the metal walls. His gun hand drops, and he absently tugs at the bracelet they locked around his wrist. His lips purse, and he whistles a few loud, clear bars of a classic song--normally a signal to his friends, but just here it's a comfort noise, something to soothe his nerves. They're on fire.

The tablet. His heart jolts in his chest when his attention settles on it. Monitoring. "Shit." The steps toward it are clipped, body cable tense till he gets his hands on it to turn it around--

But before he actually turns it, before he can figure out how to disable this nasty little motherfuck, the door opens and there's light. It doesn't take too long to figure out that he needs to device to keep the door open, so he finally just grabs it, keeping it painfully tight in his palm. The sun. The sun. The sun.

There isn't any sun. More dead lights down clean hallways. Maybe he's home after all--or at least maybe here is somewhere unfortunately similar. Fun Ghoul's steps out of the arrival room are slow, deliberate, paced to a raise of his hands in surrender. Who is watching? "Don't fire." He hollers down the corridor for anyone (anything) detaining him, watching him.

"I'm a friend."

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"If this is a ploy to get me to shout that I'm a toaster fucker, I'm not biting." And yeah, that's a scowl, but it's still there. He crosses his arms, looking evenly at Ghoul.

"Alright, fine. Let's see..." His eyes move to the side (but not without rolling pretty dramatically) and he snaps his fingers.

"We met because I punched you in the face."

...Well, okay, that's a good start. But: "Over what?"

Party's look(TM) is pretty evident.

"Do I really have to say? C'mon, ghoul, don't be a fuckface."

If Party Imposter actually does know anything about him, he'll know that this look is one of immobility. Yes, you really have to say.

Oh jesus christ.

He checks if the tablet's still broadcasting, though. Just in case, before leaning in.

"I threw up on your shoes and tried to steal your power up are you fuckin' happy, dickweed?"

Can he keep a straight face for this? Yes. Yes, he can manage. "...That's not right."

Party's eyes narrow, hands moving to his holster--the gun doesn't work, but the Ghoul impostor doesn't have to know it. Though he's nor even sure there can be impostors--he's dealt with Kobra Kid, he's dealt with Jet Star. All of them were the exact same, maybe a little more annoying than others.

"That's exactly right, Exxie."

"Jokes, jokes!" He corrects immediately, hands coming up and forward to make sure that blaster stays where it's at. And yeah, he kind of laughs at his own not-that-hilarious jest, but only kind of. "Fucking christ, Poison, only you'd go straight for the balls like that."

Party's sigh is one of relief, moving over to embrace the other with a half-armed hug, steering him towards the car.

"You're... Ennnh." He was too tired to keep getting wound up. "This city does shit to you, man. I'd say it's worse than BC, but it's a nightmare either way you slice it."

"Mm, my favorite flavor." He hums dryly, hooking his arm around Party's neck as he lets himself be herded. "Got nothing except scary word on the waves, so--at least we got company?"

As he often does, Ghoul runs his free hand over the slope of the hood as they approach, saying hello. "Look just like her back home." He frowns. "How'd that happen?"

"We all get somethin' from home. Some kinda sick joke..." Party twitches, staring at the hood. She's got a few more bangs courtesy of reckless city driving, but it's still in good shape.

"Whatchu got?"

He shrugs, shaking his head. Hasn't really gotten that far yet. His fingers dip shallowly into one particularly bad ding, and he looks back at Party. "What the fuck've you been doing with her?"

"Driving." An unsaid 'duh' hung in the air, and he rapped the case.

"So there's somethin' called speed limits here." It was a joke--well. Half of one. "I kinda.. Maybe hit a couple of the Extra dudes. They're robots, though, so they're not real people."

Not. Funny. "She ain't a damn derby demo, Poisonboy, she has feelings!" Cue a long, loving stroke up over the windshield. "I leave you alone for one minute..."

"Yeah like you'll ever drive it." The fact that Ghoul has in the past is COMPLETELY irrelevent, because this is Party and this is Party getting defensive.

"So I hit a few things, big deal, it's been through worse."

"Yeah, she's been through worse with a responsible adult around to keep her together." Oh stop it, Party, what a baby. He makes a round, popping the driver's side door. "What else you done in the insides?"

"Tried cleanin' it." Party heads to the driver's seat, but only after lifting a foot and literally kicking Ghoul's ass, however gently.

"It just didn't really feel the same," he confesses--and maybe it's a little gross but it still smells like smoke and powerpup and bleach from first aid kids and blood, but it's his and it's the closest thing he's got from home.

Not gross. A little trippy though. Ghoul flops onto the seat and scootches up against the door. It does smell right, and a big part of him wants comfort in that. But the puddle of right in all of this wrong just serves to muddy up his feelings further. He slouches in the passenger's side, scowling at the dash.

"P, this is...this is kinda fucked up."

Party's laugh isn't really a laugh--it's an echo of something, something he's fought and fought and fought and is on the urge of giving up.

"I've been here for almost a year, Ghoul." He takes a deep breathe, shakes his head, and immediately peels out.

"I'm just fuckin' happy you're here, alright?"

[oo1: video]

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EHEHE ICON /sealclap

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