We in the limo drunk

[mo_cara]

WHO: Gamzee Makara and Eridan Ampora
TONE: Goofy and drunk
RATING: R for language and teenage boy makeouts
WHEN: Easter hols
WHERE: Gamzee's house
WHAT: Teenage boys hanging out and being dorks and also getting drunk off Gamzee's dad's liquor
STATUS: Ongoing


Gamzee had been pretty excited the entire way home with Eridan. No one ever really came to his house to visit, let alone stay for a whole holiday. Once they'd gotten off the train in London, there had been a long bus ride to Wales, in which the taller Slytherin had happily shown Eridan all his Muggle stuff that wouldn't work at Hogwarts, especially his CD player, and then promptly tried to make the other boy listen to as much ICP as he'd tolerate. It was the happiest the strange boy had been in awhile - everything was so weird with Karkat and Tavros, but Eridan was pretty straightforward. Confusing, sometimes, because Gamzee didn't know what he was talking about, but pretty easy to read, and a good friend.

His da picked them up at the bus station, and turned out to basically look like a miniature, old Gamzee who cut his hair and never smiled. His son had about five inches on him, but they had the same long face, same long nose and dark hair, same oddly loose limbed stance. The man was very polite to Eridan, but also very solemn, and Gamzee made an initial effort to tell his da about school, what they had done, all of that, but eventually lapsed into silence. It wasn't that Mr. Makara wasn't listening, he just ... never said much of anything back. Only nodded.

He was out of the house most of the time the boys were there, 'working', Gamzee said. He was a fisherman, and seemed uncomfortable around his own son, like he was never really sure what to do with him. The Slytherins were left to their own devices most times, except for supper most nights, and forbade from going down to the sea - the Makaras lived in a modest house overlooking the gray ocean. Which meant, of course, one night when Mr. Makara wasn't going to be back until morning, Gamzee immediately got into the liquor in the kitchen and suggested they go down to the beach, even though it was already dark.

"It's kind of motherfuckin' cold, but you can borrow a coat, bro!" he said enthusiastically, as he poured a generous slug of bourbon into a glass.

Comments

[yerawwizarderi]

Anybody else probably would have called Eridan a difficult houseguest. He put on airs constantly; he pretended he wasn't interested when he was, furtively poking at the CD player while trying not to be obvious about poking at the CD player and also complaining loudly about the quality of the music and expounding on his own feelings about how magnets worked ("By fuckin' magic, obvviously"). He complained about the bus, and the train, with his face pressed to the window the entire time, and his whole posture was stiff and awkward like he wanted to relax and couldn't bring himself to. Like playing a part, on the stage, a role he didn't exactly feel comfortable with and hadn't studied for properly.

But it was always better down by the ocean. The easing up came involuntarily, and for once he wasn't immediately trying to shy away with whatever potentially strong drug Gamzee was about to pour down his throat. It just smelled like firewhiskey, and he'd always sort of wanted to know what that had tasted like-

"It's the fuckin' ocean, I know how cold it is," he groused, shrugging himself into a coat anyway and trying to stand on tiptoes to see just what Gamzee was fuddling around with. "What have you go, is that Ogden's or somethin'?"