The Psiioniic - Artolo Apemis (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
iitrebel) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
interstellar55552015-11-28 06:44 pm
iitrebel) wrote in interstellar55552015-11-28 06:44 pm
Entry tags:
1 ♊ I've been beaten down
Who: Artolo Apemis and passerby
What: So seafood is terrible.
When: Around noon-afternoon
Where: Pride HQ
Warnings: Body horror, vomit, a sex toy later
A - Noon
The notice that went around said semi-formal. Semi-casual. Same thing. It did not say "Dress up as obnoxiously fancy as you possibly can". Artolo is fairly certain of this. So why is An fluttering about eager to put them in all sorts of bullshit? Nope. No. He was dragged along on the impromptu photoshoot.
You gotta draw the line somewhere. You gotta look inside yourself and say "What am I willing to put up with today?" Not fucking this.
So Artolo does the sensible thing, which is to say that he fucking bolts from Crown of Thorns' penthouse to shamelessly sacrifice his bandmates to their manager's love of fashion. (He doesn't feel guilty. If they don't bolt, it's their own fault.) He's not really sure what he's going to do. He's in an idle state of wandering as he goes through Pride's halls, fingers twitching in want to do something.
It's be pure coincidence that he's passing by a series of food carts that are going up to some other penthouse, a positively decadent piling up of sushi and other assorted seafood all on display. Ha ha, wow, gross, the shit people will eat flickers through his mind first and he's not thinking, not really, just walking by and looking-
Everything hurts.
This is not new, but everything is pain and misery and pure fucking blissful spite, because spite is the only crystal clear thing in his life anymore, spite and desperately clinging to hold onto memories from so long ago.
He h͔͕͉̰ͨ̐ͤ͒́̚͢a̺͍̥̩̭͈̝̮̒̓ț̱̲̑̓̑̓̀̋̚e̤̟̥͋̏s͔̥̤̘̯̦ͯͪ̋ her.
He hates her so goddamn much.
There is pain and spite and hatred in a room only dimly lit by the flickering flare of blue and red lights- from him? from him- and screens set into walls which are nauseating pink and they move, organic and fleshy and he hates fucking pink, too. He'd set it all ablaze, if he could, if water wasn't creeping up to where his knees are, or where they would be except they're consumed by that horrifying creeping mass of fuchsia flesh. He turns his head to the side, just to take care of the crick in his neck, and his arms have been yanked up- the same tendrils hiding away those, too, sinking past the gray of his skin and into his flesh-
A door opens.
He knows who it is.
He knows who it is and he bares every bit of mangled fang he has in a grimace of a smile.
Artolo blinks out of his own head and finds that he's on his knees, hands covered in vomit.
Well, okay, what the fuck.
It hits him, after a moment, what must have happened. Fell to his knees, nauseous, probably, and he'd tried to keep himself from vomiting at all but when the body needed to rapidly expel something... Well, teeth and hands couldn't stop it.
He doesn't get up for a moment. The normally caustic and confident percussionist just kneels there for a second, shaking and staring down at the mess.
B - Afternoon
Somewhere around three in the afternoon, the doors to Pride Headquarters burst open and Artolo rides in pushing a probably stolen shopping cart that is filled to the absolute brim with all sorts of candy and junkfood, and... this draped on top. If you're not an adult, best not ask.
He can be found riding his shopping cart of food through the halls, and waiting impatiently in the elevator.
Have fun with that.
What: So seafood is terrible.
When: Around noon-afternoon
Where: Pride HQ
Warnings: Body horror, vomit, a sex toy later
A - Noon
The notice that went around said semi-formal. Semi-casual. Same thing. It did not say "Dress up as obnoxiously fancy as you possibly can". Artolo is fairly certain of this. So why is An fluttering about eager to put them in all sorts of bullshit? Nope. No. He was dragged along on the impromptu photoshoot.
You gotta draw the line somewhere. You gotta look inside yourself and say "What am I willing to put up with today?" Not fucking this.
So Artolo does the sensible thing, which is to say that he fucking bolts from Crown of Thorns' penthouse to shamelessly sacrifice his bandmates to their manager's love of fashion. (He doesn't feel guilty. If they don't bolt, it's their own fault.) He's not really sure what he's going to do. He's in an idle state of wandering as he goes through Pride's halls, fingers twitching in want to do something.
It's be pure coincidence that he's passing by a series of food carts that are going up to some other penthouse, a positively decadent piling up of sushi and other assorted seafood all on display. Ha ha, wow, gross, the shit people will eat flickers through his mind first and he's not thinking, not really, just walking by and looking-
Everything hurts.
This is not new, but everything is pain and misery and pure fucking blissful spite, because spite is the only crystal clear thing in his life anymore, spite and desperately clinging to hold onto memories from so long ago.
He h͔͕͉̰ͨ̐ͤ͒́̚͢a̺͍̥̩̭͈̝̮̒̓ț̱̲̑̓̑̓̀̋̚e̤̟̥͋̏s͔̥̤̘̯̦ͯͪ̋ her.
He hates her so goddamn much.
There is pain and spite and hatred in a room only dimly lit by the flickering flare of blue and red lights- from him? from him- and screens set into walls which are nauseating pink and they move, organic and fleshy and he hates fucking pink, too. He'd set it all ablaze, if he could, if water wasn't creeping up to where his knees are, or where they would be except they're consumed by that horrifying creeping mass of fuchsia flesh. He turns his head to the side, just to take care of the crick in his neck, and his arms have been yanked up- the same tendrils hiding away those, too, sinking past the gray of his skin and into his flesh-
A door opens.
He knows who it is.
He knows who it is and he bares every bit of mangled fang he has in a grimace of a smile.
Artolo blinks out of his own head and finds that he's on his knees, hands covered in vomit.
Well, okay, what the fuck.
It hits him, after a moment, what must have happened. Fell to his knees, nauseous, probably, and he'd tried to keep himself from vomiting at all but when the body needed to rapidly expel something... Well, teeth and hands couldn't stop it.
He doesn't get up for a moment. The normally caustic and confident percussionist just kneels there for a second, shaking and staring down at the mess.
B - Afternoon
Somewhere around three in the afternoon, the doors to Pride Headquarters burst open and Artolo rides in pushing a probably stolen shopping cart that is filled to the absolute brim with all sorts of candy and junkfood, and... this draped on top. If you're not an adult, best not ask.
He can be found riding his shopping cart of food through the halls, and waiting impatiently in the elevator.
Have fun with that.
B
Calling the elevator, one thing he definitely does not expect to find when the doors open is whatever this is, and the whole situation gives him pause before he actually steps inside.
It's too weird not to comment though, and he squints at the... Duck? Is that what it is? With a very eloquent, "what the fuck?"
no subject
Unfortunately for Terry, Artolo is on a very different wavelength from him. In the basket of the shopping cart is a box of fortune cookies, and he's been steadily making his way through them. He's looking positively offended at a little strip of paper between his fingers before he shoves it Terry's way.
"'If you want the rainbow, you have to tolerate the rain'? That's not a fucking fortune. That's bullshit, right?"
no subject
Terry tears his eyes away from trying to figure out how this duck even works to look at Artolo, squinting as he parses the 'fortune' that he apparently has now. "This is just cryptic feel better shit."
no subject
Outside of alcohol, anyway.
"Exactly, it's crap." He offers the box. "Want one?"
no subject
"... The ocean will always be there for you." Wh... He looks up at Artolo, and then back at the message, frowning. "Is it me, or is that kind of... Threatening?"
no subject
"That is definitely threatening," he agrees, digging for more fortune cookies to break apart and shove into his mouth. Honestly, it reminds him far too much of the suffocating smell of salt water in that... bad trip, or whatever.
"Make any enemies of mermaids or scuba divers lately?"
no subject
To find Artolo coming in with a shopping cart and a sex toy. Fuck, it was probably all stolen, wasn't it. His eyes went to the bail fish. Fuck.
"Looking to spice up our love life Double A?" he asked as he picked up the toy and studied it. He hoped Xie An was watching and hoped that she died from seeing the fuchsia thing. "My, my, this looks fun. Are you planning on using it on me or me using it on you?"
no subject
So Artolo gives a grin when he sees him, trying to mask the genuine relief under it all.
"Well, I was thinking after all the sugar plus something colorful and alcoholic, we could see where the night takes us," he drawls, rustling through the various sweets. It takes him a moment to find a bar of chocolate that is blatantly sinful in how big it is. "The surprise would make things fun."
no subject
He looks over the cart, licking his lips lewdly. "Got any milk bread?"
no subject
HA haaaa okay listen shut up. He does start to dig through everything, however, long reach working in his favor. "I wasn't really paying attention, honestly, so who the hell knows. Want to help me get this up to the penthouse?"
no subject
He scanned the items. No, probably no bread at all. Tooru liked candy, but he preferred pastries. He swept his gaze back to Artolo. "Sure, but jeez, Double A, how much caffeine were you on?"
no subject
"I got sick and I wanted something to make me feel better." So he got an obnoxious amount of candy instead of, like, chicken noodle soup. Duh.
no subject
He chews thoughtfully. "I am not one of those people. Let's get sugar high."
no subject
"Want to ride at the other end of the cart? I think I can push you."
no subject
And with that Oikawa jumps on the front of the cart facing Double A and bends over so that his ass is on full display in his stupid nut hugging black goth jeans. (Seriously, the only saving grace for this ripped up piece of garbage disguised as clothing is that it makes his ass look fantastic).
"Onward!"
no subject
"Beep beep, suckers!"