voice;

[amoray]

[he doesn't start speaking right as the feed starts! there's a solid second or two of eridan trying to find his train of thought, the occasional heavy, expectant breath or two the only signs of his false starts.]

Well, Mexico was a shipload a fun. Don't know about anybody else's impromptu as fuck abscondin'.

Not my point of makin' this point though, so listen up, landlubbers.

[there is a decided lack of flair in eridan's voice, despite the (sharp, direct) pun/nautical reference or two. he's purposeful.]

They say they're cuttin' me loose soon, probably on account a my bein' such a charminly well-behawed prisoner and all. Due to personal circumstances, I'll be needin' to get a few affairs in order before my date a release.

I need a place to liwe, a tutor for the upcomin' schoolfeedin' year, and hopefully enough, some manner a profession. If you're willin' to hire a sewen solar sweep year old like myself, a course, don't want to go about misleadin' folk. Lyin' to 'em. Suchlike.

[a stale beat.]

No nosy hiwemates. Roommates, whatewer. I don't fuckin' like most a you and I probably won't giwe a shit about your problems, so keep your cartilage nubs outta mine. I got more than enough beetles in my coffers to keep me afloat for a while, so rent ain't gonna be an issue. Probably.

[a beat. he sounds like he means to say something dramatic or heartfelt to top off his posts like usual, and then:]

Preferably cat friendly. But I'm flexible.

Comments

[enigmaestro]

You're a lot of things, Eridan. But I wouldn't call it mentally sound.

[amoray]

Pot.

Question mark totin' kettle.

[enigmaestro]

Really rich, coming from a kid in prison.

[amoray]

Richer, comin' from a conwict.

Sorry, ex-superwillain.

[enigmaestro]

[A harsh, low laugh.]

You're really not going to change, are you? Spiteful, vicious little Eridan.

[amoray]

It gets you places.

[beat.]

And you ain't exactly a magnanimous sort yourself, if you forgot.

[enigmaestro]

[Cruelly:] Mitchell thinks I'm wonderful.

[amoray]

[IMPULSIVELY:]

Mitchell ain't near as tolerant a your owerrought bullshit as me. Among other things.

[enigmaestro]

Why would you -- are you trying to falsehood trip me?

[amoray]

[IN REEDY LITTLE DOUCHE FASHION]

Mitchell Hundred ain't a the mindset or patience to really moirail for you - or not hawe you locked the fuck up - if you told him half the shit you told me!

[enigmaestro]

He knows me! [Uh oh.] He knows me, he has my life recorded in his home universe! He knows what I've done!

[amoray]

[saccharine:]

He ain't like us, Eddie. He wouldn't understand.

[then, abruptly remembering himself:]

How about this? Edward Nygma deserwes a slap in the fuckin' mouth.

[enigmaestro]

[Well obviously that won't ring false. Nevertheless, it's a good distraction, so he takes it.]

And who's going to deliver? You?

[amoray]

I don't enjoy sullyin' my hands with the blood a societal refuse. No more than I hawe to, a course.

[BOOYEAH EXCELLENT NOT-THREATENING-POLITICIANS SAVE]

I was thinkin' more one a your caliginous beaus. Norm, maybe. Or Midnighter. Maybe I oughta suggest it to 'em.

[enigmaestro]

I haven't heard from Norman as of late. He hasn't been answering the Mayor's Office calls.

[Spoken just a touch. Too. Pleasantly.]

I hope he wasn't ported out.

[amoray]

You don't sound pissed enough to think it was a port out. Kismessiship and lack a closure and suchlike business.

Maybe he's just not that into you.

[enigmaestro]

Yes, maybe that's it!

[Or maybe Norman's huddled in Eddie's deathtrap, waiting for the next torment to begin.]

You are, after all, an expert in repelling people, aren't you?

[amoray]

[AND ERIDAN DIDN'T EVEN GET TO HENCH FOR IT

GOD]

Spiteful, wicious little Ed.

[he remembers hearing eddie's father call him ed; can recall bits and pieces of his low, salty baritone. if he feels any guilt at all for trying to invoke childhood trauma in his former father figure, he doesn't recognize it. eddie's words have him seeing red - well, purple.

maybe green.]

You sad, little piece a shit.

[enigmaestro]

Falsehood.

[The word lit up his smirk, like the lights stowed in a city. It covers the bitterness well for the sake of any nonchalant passerby -- but for Eridan? For Eddie's former moirail? The deceit hid a bitterness detectable. A hurt all too palpable.

It was in the corners of his mouth, collected. Like salt in the edges of a gaping, bloodied wound.]

What a fascinating parallel you draw.

[amoray]

Isn't it?

[eridan was never quite so good at hiding his sleeves - he doesn't have video on, of course, he never does these days, so fortunately enough the stiffness of his jaw and the steadily set stare at the opposite wall of his cell aren't visible. his tone is cavalier, but he can't mask just how taut, how deliberately nonchalant he wants it to be.

it's really very unfortunate.]

I figured you'd appreciate it more than anybody else. On different lewels, I mean, not just on account a subject matter. You were always so smart.

[enigmaestro]

Still am.

[He is, in turn, gently spoken in his tone. Civil, a society man, the facade of friendliness and small talk with the pointed purpose of pissing Eridan off. This was such treacherous ground for him, so close and so exposed a target, his greatest offense was simply reacting kindly.

If that tautness in Eridan's voice was any indication, he had equal room to move still.]

And really, who better to deliver than you? We've discussed other parallels, how suitable for you to adopt the unintended ones.

[amoray]

Let's just hope those similarities don't go all the way down to gettin' locked up in the fuckin' nuthouse, huh?

[enigmaestro]

Hah. So cute, your usual material.

So what need I do to get you to stop talking to Mitchell?

[amoray]

How about you start eatin' shit. We'll go from there.

[enigmaestro]

That isn't what you really want, Eridan, please.