WELCOME TO DREAMWIDTH, HERO...

I'm in a good mood.

[ which should be enough of an indicator that he did something wrong. anyway, this is eridan in his penthouse, having set up the comm on the small table in front of his couch! a fatass persian cat lords from his obnoxiously large cat tree off to the left. eridan steps back from the comm, kicks an unlabeled cardboard box out of view (it rattles in a metallic fashion), and flops down on the couch at his back.

completely shamelessly, in rumblr coolkid fashion, he is wearing this sweater. except it has a persian on the front. HOW EMBARRASSING. ]

In fact, I'm in such a good fuckin' mood I'm actually gonna buy you filthy plebeian animals holiday presents this year. That's a general you, a course, I do kinda hate the fuck outta some of you. Not gonna commit to anythin' here, but you can try me. Drop some Congo wishlists on me, or just giwe me some kinda idea what you want; I'm probably headin' out for the holidays, so I ain't gonna be here, and if I'm gonna bother I need a horn's up in adwance. Maybe you'll get it, maybe you won't, but there ain't no harm in askin' me, right?

No islands, no guns, nothin' illegal. Since I know somebody's gonna ask. [ pffffft. he rolls his eyes. ] What do I look like, some kinda fuckin' psycho? Puh-leeze.

[ apparently done (why did he even bother setting up the comm, anyway?) he steps back in, killing the feed. ]

You know what we did back on Alternia? With criminals.

[ yep, just an abrupt snap into conversation. he sounds reasonably like himself during the whole address; some inflections are a little too sharp, his words come quicker than normal, but nothing too alarming. ]

Most folk who fucked up an' got themselwes caught with their graspers in the ceramic grubpaste container, so to say, ended up winnin' themselwes a fresh fuckin' hole or two courtesy a the legislacerators. Sometimes they'd get their claws on a real useful gutterblood, though - somebody worth the hassle of keepin' in less than three pieces, usually 'cos of their powers; maybe some sad rustblooded fuck with a little extra kick to their pan. So they'd slap on some chains, and they'd work 'em down to the marrow doin' somethin' or other, for the benefit a the people they were tryin' to fuck ower in the first place. Kinda like an apology, if you think about it. A real compulsory one.

I'm kinda curious why we couldn't do somethin' like that here.

[ a beat. ]

New Wesuwius was a shithole, but it was a clean runnin' shithole. Think maybe that'd work for us too, if we took somethin' outta this whole affair. Put imPort criminals in some kinda second class citizenry status while they work off their time, make 'em put the city back together with them nifty powers a theirs. Rebuildin' Central Park ewery couple a weeks, pickin' cats outta trees. The kinda good Samaritan shit we're too busy to be botherin' ourselwes with. Hell, pair it up with that whole C.O.C.K. affair, bridlin' the capes. You'd have natiwe folk eatin' that shit up.

Might not be agreeable with whatewer piss-poor set a morals you people might be draggin' around, but I personally think a year or two a indentured serwitude'd be a whole fuckin' lot of reason to keep courteous around here. Can't go makin' an omelet without grindin' a few squallin' lowblooded grubs into a fine paste, et cetera.

[ another beat! this one is shorter, and rather than ending with the usual theatrical flair, it ends with a whimper. or more accurately, an audible shrug. ]

Just sayin'.

Now, let's say a brinesucker's puttin' serious thought into purchasin' himself a yacht. Like a nice one, not no fuckin' piddly squat rowboat. Somethin' he can liwe off of when shit starts blowin' south around here.

What should this metaphorical sucker a salt consider namin' this metaphorical yacht of his?

[the feed is underwater, and not immediately focused on eridan (though his cape does drift slightly into view here and there). few, if any, will recognize the atlantean palace or its throne room, but the architecture and the being underwater thing might tip them off.]

Considerin' it's been about a week or so now, and I hawen't seen skin nor scale a her, it's pretty safe to say that Namora a Atlantis ain't roamin' these waters no more.

[a pause.]

That bein' said, as the last sea dweller and the only indiwidual who ain't got garbage slippin' through their weins around here, it's only natural that I take ower their palace and assorted territories in their absence. Maintain 'em and such.

Aforementioned territories bein' all sewen seas and ewerythin' in between, for the record.

[he flips the camera away from a meandering lionfish (his name is xerxes the sewenth) and to himself, comfortably sprawled in namor's throne. and being smug as a motherfucker. like literally, he's been super smug about shit before but at the moment his smugness may be mutating surrounding sealife just by how goddamn potent it is.

the lay of his cape obscures the slight bulges under his clothing at his shoulder and leg, for the most part, but his left fin is visibly torn, and still an angry purple.]

As fair and generous warnin', I'm allowin' the humans continued usage a my oceans not outta goodwill, but outta necessity. Mostly since you lungbreathers would probably start whinin' your tailfins off about widespread starwation or some shit if I didn't. But if I start seein' anythin' I don't necessarily like happenin' in my waters, I won't hesitate to fuck some a your laughable tin can ships all manner a up 'til the message starts comin' through clearer-like.

I ain't currently acceptin' wirgin sacrifices or tributes a precious metals and stones, but be watchin' for that in the future.

[he gives a little wave of his ringed fingers at the comm.]

Ewenin', dirtscrapers. And long liwe the Prince.

[end feed.]

And a course I end up missin' all the fuckin' fun.

[here's eridan!! distinctly not in a prison jumpsuit anymore (and notably scarfless), and he's looking irritable as ever.]

I expect one a you psychopathic shits out there is already plannin' some manner a slaughter to try and top it, and I ain't exactly discouragin' any such plans, but try and hold off until I got my bearins again. You know how I hate missin' social ewents.

[beat.]

Joke.

Anyhow, I'm loose. Somebody come get lunch with me or somethin' akin so can quit feelin' like an ex-con for a while.

[there's no real hurry or spectacle to this post - not even a theatrical, outraged diatribe on the gory details of his death, as much fun as that would be. for once, eridan sounds halfway like he's taking the entire matter seriously.]

Well, congratulations goin' out to certain notable slimesuckin' halfwits. You finally managed killin' me.

And it only took four a you. Three and a god, if we're gettin' into technicalities.

[he drawls every word, sounding as bored as he can. the only background noise is the constant clicking of a pen, to the william tell overture.]

I'm turnin' myself in for the accidental killin' a Karkat Wantas. Lawfolk type can find me at [DIFFICULT TO FIND AND PURPOSEFULLY OUT-OF-THE-WAY LOCATION] whenewer they feel like comin' around, so we can get this hot mess sorted out. Don't keep me waitin'. And do yourself a fawor - no rookies. There's a decent chance I'm goin' to hawe another attempt on my own personal life, just sayin'.

[a brief pause.]

And before anybody asks, that's all I'm turnin' myself in for. Figured I oughta clear that up, since my murderer's a god damn liar and has leweled some mightily untrue accusations my way and all. I'd appreciate untoward and magnificently pointless questionin' to that end be sawed for a day I didn't just end up comin' back from the dead, if that ain't goin' to impinge on anybody's schedule.

And hey, I wasn't kiddin' about sendin' experienced folk. You newer know when some freak with a grudge is goin' to come try an' lop your head off, after all.

[CLICK. then, a moment later:]

And Di, thanks for the pep talk. Good to be back.

[CLICK.]

( PRIVATE MESSAGES )

Now let's say somebody in particular, that somebody bein' a prince who shouldn't hawe to deal with this horseshit, is gettin' threatened in a psychic manner by their fuckin' malewolent psychopath of an ex. Gettin' terrorized, in a manner a speakin' that ain't hypothetical in the least, by a freak whose meddlin' is causin' all manner a...

[beat.]

...unfortunate side effects. Damage.

An' this particular harangued-as-fuck sea dweller is in the market for psychic protection to keep it from gettin' worse.

[another beat UGHHHHHH HE HATES ASKING FOR HELP]

Where do they get it.

You know, I'm all for free Condesce-approwed flappin' a protein chute ducts much as the next guy. I really am. And I want this bein' known in case anybody gets a rogue stick up the hindquarters here.

[it's just audio for the moment, the crunch crunch crunching of his shoes on gravel, distant traffic, and Eridan's vaguely irritated drawl. he comes to a stop, pausing briefly for effect.]

But I can't be the only one gettin' just a mite pissed off at all a - well, this.

[a flash of video; IMPORTS GO HOME is scrawled across a dingy brick wall, along with various other anti-import graffiti.]

Fuckin' ungrateful goddamn scum - the majority a us got no plans to conquer the fuck outta their kind or wipe 'em off the face a the planet and sink the parts that don't matter muchly, and I still get dirty fuckin' looks on the subway.

The nerwe a some people.

[a pause. he flickers over to CHILDKILLERS, which is in large and prominent red.]

Though I gotta admit, I admire the wisceral edge a some a these.

[gradually he settles on an entirely different message, written in fuchsia. there's a pause as he bristles at DEATH TO THE INVVADERS.]

And others, not so much.

Wrong shade a fuckin' purple, for one.

[and the feed is finally on him, leaning against the wall.]

So what are we gonna do about it?

( private to Quentin Quire )

( BORING PURPLETEXT PREAMBLE )

[video of Eridan's room! after a quick blur of Alternian-filled notebooks, a suspicious pile of metal and tools in the corner, and a godawful amount of purple decoration, it focuses on... well, pretty much this with some minor discrepancies, leaning up against the wall.

after setting up the comm, Eridan strolls over and leans against it proudly.]

I'm thinkin' we set it up in the dinin' room.

So.

[aside from the distant-ish sounds of traffic and the regular scritch of pencil on paper (and his voice duh), it's very quiet. there isn't even any music from a band nobody's ever heard of playing softly in the background!! and as soon as he starts again, it's pretty obvious he's been practicing this entire spiel in a mirror or something so it doesn't sound lame (it still sounds lame).]

I'm hearin' chatter concernin' this upcomin' human festiwal a romance and whatnot. Somethin' circlin' around the quadrants.

Which, you know, considerin' how much shit your species stole off mine it's not totally unexpected, but I'm still feelin' all tinglinly fuckin' pleasantly surprised and whatnot. Kinda.

[pause.]

Pink is not the right color for flushed feelins, eff-why-aye.

[PAUSE...]

...So. What's the deal with it around here, anyhow? What sorta festiwties do I gotta expect? I'm assumin' you don't do anythin' like sacrificin' somebody to appease the Handmaid or warious flawors a mythological bullshit like that by natural course a bein' borin' humans, but that's okay. I wouldn't anticipate excitin' shit like that anyhow.

[yep there's another pause, where he stops writing. then, lamely:]

I'm just curious. Don't go gettin' the wrong idea or anythin'.

[LIKE HE'S TRYING TO WWOO SOMEBODY. THAT WOULD BE DUMB.]

Okay, let's hypothetically hypothesize that somebody is currently embroiled up to their fuckin' nook in a contentious goddamn present purchasin' one-upsmanship. You know, for Earth Jegusmas or whatewer.

Now if they were potentially lookin' for somethin' that'd knock Ed Nygma's tacky green socks right the fuck off - that bein' metaphorically or otherwise, I'm not reel picky - what should they look for?

I'm directin' this in the general current a his Gotham slumber buddy circle in particular, but you know, whoewer's familiar with this kinda situation is welcome to makin' dumb bubbly fishnoises on the matter, since I can't particularly fuckin' stop you anyway.

[paussse.]

Somethin' for Felicia Hardy too. Kinda leanin' less on the facetious side, for her.

[another pause.]

Anybody spills the unripe legume fruits to either a the aforementioned and I'll fuckin' skin' 'em.

( cut for purple courier, Eridan declaring himself leader of everything in the upcoming eldritch invasion, and also a bunch of shit he made up )

[AND A SWITCH TO VOICE because his royal text color should be reserved for serious goddamn business.]

Now, aside from that, I realize we got a lot a new arriwals around here. So I got a question for the lot a you.

What's your sign?