simplerbox | Play with me

[He is so charming she could swoon! Instead, she sort of sits there, looking without seeing, because there's only Sollux on her tongue and it shouldn't be attractive at all.]

Cause?

[That sets it off again, exception: unexpected qualification required. Rebooting.

He's leaking again. Snot trickling over his lips so he blows a bubble when he talks. The knots in his stomach are working themselves bigger and bigger.]

Unknown. Reply not retrieved.

Shhhhhhhhhhhhh. [She can't help but lean down to clean it again, taking some perverse pleasure from being this close to his mouth. It should gross her out that she's essentially licking his snot off his face, but you know what - it doesn't.]

Shoosh, little bug.

[Contact. He's. He's. He's. Who knows what he is.

It's too much, he's restarted parts of his own brain and now she's stimulating things he shouldn't have and she shouldn't be able to reach.

He's overloading. Lightning sparks along his tears and over her cheeks as well, along her tongue and into he back of her throat.

He is out of control.]

[It hurts. It hurts it hurts it hurts, and she keeps going. It gets to the point where she's holding him down by his forearms, nails digging into his skin, but she keeps going. It gets to the point where she's dripping tears on his face, teal mixing with mustard mixing with lightning, and she still presses on and cleans them, and whispers shoosh between each pained gasp against his skin.]

[It doesn't help. It doesn't help anything. Her shoosh is perfect and refined and he's just one step closer to burnout.

He's shaking and crackling down to his bones. He drags his hands up out of the slime and up to his head, fingers wedged to his temples and still radiating lightning.]

[If he tries to fry his brain, she swears to god. She swears to gog.

Desperate, she grabs for his arms, pulling them away.] Stop - Sollux, stop.

[A crack - focus inside his chest - and he sags. His psiionics still flow, but harmless and dissipating. Retreating back into his eyes and mouth.

Pain blossoms up from his ribs, seeping through the rest of him and confirming the need to acquiesce to her command.]

Locked. Shutting down.

[He can detect spikes in teal but it barely gets through before he's slowing his heart and breathing.]

Just sleep, Helmsman. Feelings jam is over. Just sleep.

[She's shivering, suddenly. Exhausted and shivering, her insides feel like they've been burned on a slow fire. But she doesn't lie down yet.]

[He reaches for her as a last trickle of mustard squeezes out of his eyes, wraps his arms around her. The most willing movement he's made in his records.

He's asleep in moments.]

[She can't even deal with him anymore. Her arms wrap around him so tight, first voluntary contact he's given her of this significance in...some time. Before falling asleep, she manages to negotiate their bodies into a position that doesn't involve either of them drowning in sopor, and then finally lets go, with one last check for his pulse.]

[He wakes up sweating and panicked, pusher rate elevated two hundred and twenty two percent. His body never quite got the memo that he's giving up the duality theme.

His psiionics are out of control, if sopor could catch on fire then it would have. It evaporates in puffs of steam leaving concentrated spots of rubberised sopor.

A whiff of something that is right at the top of his records infiltrates through the crusted snot in his nose. It's important to know what seared troll flesh smells like. Not high quantities.

He's too frantic to know if it's his or Terezi's. ]

[Here's a not-First: waking up screaming and smelling fire. Every troll ends up having nightmares and daymares at one point or another, but this one feels real. One moment she's drawing a moustache on a grumbling Vriska's face and the next one she's wrapped up in electrified barbed wire.

Oh wait, it's Sollux.]

Hey! Get yourself together!

[They snap off in a flash at her voice.

A literal flash, unfortunately. His hair and her hair stand on end and he reaches up to touch above his eye sockets.]

Losses: two eyebrows.

[No laughter, if he was being funny he would have commented on the sopor ones he's drawn on.]

[There's a beat, then she flops back down in what's left of sopor.]

I wouldn't call it a loss, they're the shape a wriggler makes when they first grab chalk.

Incorrect. Eyebrows take up to two weeks to grow.

[He sinks down and his lids close. One thing that his programming has never been able to fix is the irrational desire to have them open.]

You can't show your face in public, this is terrible!!

[She rolls on her side.] I'll draw you some. We can alchemize a sharpie.

Affirmative. Sharpie creation feasible.

[He follows her minutely, angling towards where the sopor shifted.]

[She leans forward, bumps her forehead against his.] Gah, you stink of charred sopor. We better shower before it ends up making us high.

[She comes within his proximity and collides - he doesn't react. Not enough force in the bump to necessitate avoidance procedures.]

No conclusive study has every been conducted on the intoxicating properties of sopor.

Sure it has, his name is Gamzee Makara. Come on, conscript, haul your ass out of this joint.

You're rested, you can manage the few movements on your own.

[It registers and he jerks out of the sopor shakily to his feet.]

Destination?

The shower.

Target locked.

[He clutches at her as he trudges towards the shower's coordinates.]

[Luckily, she's pulled herself together and out of the recuperacoon by the time he locks onto the target, and she feels like there's been a breakthrough in the past night. He held her, voluntarily, and despite the crispy eyebrows and sopor, he turned towards her too, like she was his control beacon.

Gives her a little hope.]

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