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'I motherfucking fell, best bro.'
'You fell.'
You stare in disbelief at your moirail.
'Yeah best friend, one minute I was all up on my leg stalks, scooting around on my motherfucking one-wheel having a motherfucking ball of a time an' the next thing I know, I was wedged way down here.'
Gamzee. Your beloved moirail. Your other and better half has gotten himself stuck down the back of his recupercoon. You are literally speechless right now, you have nothing to say. You can only stare as you take in the magnificent sight as of the troll embodiment of a gangly baby duckbeast looks serenely up at you.
'Gamzee, what the fuck, how the fucking fuck do you get yourself into these pissing situations? I am in awe of your idiocy, you literally have taken the fucking sopor pie here. Wow, I feel the need to punch myself in the face, to stop myself looking at this great gog-damn pile of disaster right in front of me.'
'Woah there best bro, I don't think punching yourself in the face would be the best motherfucking idea, chill friend, chill.' Gamzee says as he nods thoughtfully up at you.
The facepalm you perform after that statement is perfectly justifiable and within your rights.
'Shut the fuck up Gamzee. Just shut the fuck up.'
You have lost the will to question thing like this, they happen far too frequently for you to be surprised anymore. You probably should have expected something like this to happen sooner, seriously, and you need to find something to pull him out with.
'Sure thing, best-bro.' He tells you, smiling as if he is completely oblivious to the fact he is currently wedged sideways down the back of his re-coon.
Fact: Gamzee is stuck, you can unstick things with something greasy, or oily or SLIMY.
Fact: Sopor is slimy.
Conclusion: Cover Gamzee in sopor.
Why the fuck do these thing keep happening to you? Why, why, whywhywhy? You think to yourself as you roll up your sleeves and plunge your hands into the thick, green gel. You scoop handful after handful and pour it down over the back of the tub, where Gamzee is stuck.
He laughs and squirms when you reach over to rub it in, slicking him up as much as you can. His toes knock against the side of the re-coon as you tickle-torture him further.
'Hahahahaha that motherfucking tickles best-bro.'
His wild, curling hair tickles the inside of your wrists, sopor getting trapped in its dark strands. You are trying really hard to keep up a frown but Gamzee's laugh is such a lovely sound. It makes you feel buoyed inside, a little happy that you can bring a smile to his face.
When he is covered in enough green goop to satisfy you, you grab his wrists and tug. Hard. Fuck, fuck this is so gub-fucking difficult.
It takes a lot of effort to get him moving, just a little, wiggling furiously and pulling until he is suddenly wrenched free. Now, you were completely unprepared for him to come flying toward you like that and you only have time to let loose a litany of swears before he collides with you, knocking you backward onto the floor.
You breath oofs out of you as you suddenly get a punch-in-the-chest full of sopor covered Gamzee. He manages to catch himself on his forearms before completely crushing you, thank the heavenly messiahs and then you have a faceful of concerned clown paint and wild hair. He is a long cold weigh above you, heavier than he ought to be considering his lanky stature, but it's not an unfamiliar weight, in fact you are quite used to it.
'You okay there, best-friend? Thank you for the motherfucking unsticking help, I am feeling a whole lot freer.' Gamzee asks you, leaning down to nudge his forehead against yours. He wiggles a little for emphasis.
It is very hard to be an angel of wrath when there is a worried-looking Gamzee on top of you.
'Yeah, yeah you stupid fucking clown, I'm fine. Now get off me before I turn into one of the shitty pancakes you love so much.'
You let him steal a few kisses before he moves off you and you admire the royal fucking mess he has made of you and your clothes.
'Oi, Gam, abolition block. Now. We are getting out of these shitty sopor cover-clothes. Jesus fuck Gamzee how do you even get yourself into these situations? I swear to gog. it's like you're cursed or something.' You rant as you grab his hand and lead him over there. He goes willingly, following behind you like a little lost hoofbeast.
He leans over you resting his chin between your horns as you stop over the sink, admiring the wiry green-covered mess that is your hair. His arms wrap round your waist and he squeezes you gently.
'I'm so pale for you, best friend.' He tells you, lips brushing the top of one of your horn and you relax into Gamzee's embrace. There is really no point in fighting it anyway.
'I'm pale for you too, you dumb clown.' You reply and your fingers rest over his for a few seconds, soaking in to cool feel of the slender digits.
'Now shirt off, grub-fucker, it is, as you would so eloquently say, time to get our motherfucking scrub on.' You order, twisting in his arms and lifting the bottom of his grubby tee.
Then you grin as Gamzee's lovely, lovely laugher echoes off the tiles.