golisolation | 💀 MoM IC INBOX 💀

GUZMA-?!

[the paint is far, far from her mind when she sees that blade in his leg. alarmed, she drops back on her feet and hurries over to grab his wrists.]

Gods, don't-! Don't do that! You'll bleed out!

What--?!

[There's too much happening at once, and her saying he'll bleed out makes his brain halt all at once. Maybe normally he'd correct her, but he's so caught up in the chaos of it all to properly think. Staring at her hands on his wrists, it takes him a second to catch up with what's even going on.

Scizor looks less than impressed with this situation, mainly because he's realized what did get stabbed, and they're both being a couple of idiots right now. If anything, he's watching to make sure no paint gets on anything it shouldn't. The paint that's starting to stain Guzma's pants pocket--the smell unmistakably not blood.]

Shit, Lu help me get to the garage, I ain't wantin' to get this all over the house.

Edited 2020-04-02 17:27 (UTC)

[horrified, cutting into his request:] WHY ARE YOU BLEEDING PURP-- [sniff.] Oh. Oh, what? Paint? Why--? [why does he have paint in his pocket?!]

A-anyway, let's--get you... [where? huh? what did he say? oh. right. garage. okay.] Right, uh, put an arm over me so I can better-- [better scoop him up bridal-style and head out the door, just narrowly missing bonking his head on the frame along the way as she floats up and over stairs and obstacles, kicking the garage door (off its hinges, oops) on their way in...

...forgetting to turn sideways to avoid smacking his head on the door frame.]

AHH! Sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry-!!

[Golisopod is treated to this circus show as Lucina whisks Guzma through the house to the garage. The poor bug is trying to meditate, but is entirely disturbed by their frantic journey and yelling. He doesn't move though, lifting his head to watch as they whizz by, trying to decide whether to follow or not--deciding to go with the latter. after all, he smells that paint, and figures it's something kinda dumb, anyway.

For guzma, however, it all happens so fast, so fast in fact he can't even move in time to dodge that second door, nor put up his carapace to handle the blow. Fortunately, he's hit his own head into harder surfaces with much more force, so while it hurts, and is a little disorienting, he's fine. enough.

Hell, if he hadn't been scooped up bridal style like that, maybe he'd have been able to keep his wits about him, but he was understandably distracted by keeping the knife steady in the can, keeping the can from leaking out onto the carpet, and maybe a little flustered by Lucina strongman-carrying him to the garage.]

It's fine--I've taken worse blows to the head.

[His voice sounds a little strained from the pain, though, but he's otherwise seeming fine. That is, until he realizes exactly what she did to the garage door, and he's left staring at it on the floor.]

Uh... Well, I think you can put me down now...

[Who wants to take a bet on when that door's gonna get fixed?]

[with an unhappy sound, Lucina tilts herself to let him settle on his own feet, shooting a look over at the door hanging by its bottom hinge.]

Gods...not even a day in and I've already broken something horribly! And you're leaking paint and--wait, why do you have paint in your pocket in the first place?!

[Now on his feet, he doesn't stare at the door for long, before looking at the more immediate problem. He's about to pull his pants off—deciding that's a smarter plan than pulling the knife out and wrestling with a geyser of paint from the punctured can, but he stops at her question. Visibly jolting at it, before looking at her a little sheepishly.

Silently, he holds up his arm that has yet to get re-painted, the purple skull emblem noticeably faded and cracked—peeling in some places.]

I was, uh, fixin' this before I found ya. I didn't wanna put the can down on the carpet or nothin', figured my pocket was good a place as any.

[Glancing at the door again, he shrugs lightly.]

We can fix the door.

Oh--goodness, alright, well-- [she grimaces, halted from poking the door. probably for the best; she's sure she'll just make it burst into splinters even tapping it.

she exhales, still frazzled, looking about.]

Let me--find a towel or, or rags or something, so we can soak up whatever's leaking out. I'll be right back...

[she squeaks past the door and back out into the kitchen area, where a bunch of assorted boxes of utilities and odds and ends are stacked up. she'll fish around for a while until finding a couple dish rags, floating back downstairs and offering them out.]

Will this help? Mind the blade, it's probably still...still pretty sharp...

[When she comes back, Guzma's taken his pants off, and considering he wasn't exactly expecting on going anywhere he was uh, free balling it. But his long ass muscle shirt practically covers him anyway. So, he's holding the jumbled up pair, the can and dagger in hand as he's trying to keep them in place so it doesn't start spraying even more than it is.]

Yeah, that should do it--here, take the handle of the dagger.

[He says that, releasing it himself so she can do that, and then swapping to take the dish rags so that he can cover the hole the moment she takes the dagger out.

If all goes well, the paint will be mostly contained. If all goes bad, Lucina might get sprayed with paint, NO BIGGIE.]

Edited 2020-04-02 23:08 (UTC)

[Lucina's not sure of much, but she's sure she wasn't expecting to see her man stripped down to his boxers upon return.

perhaps the least odd thing right now, honestly? but it gives her pause nonetheless -- but only briefly. she makes a soft, affirmative sound and moves to pull the dagger free.]

Well, as long as that's-- [YOINK.] YAH!!

[she hops back when she sees paint fly out and spatter all over her stockings, frozen in place for a beat with dagger raised.

she blinks.]

I mean...of, of all the things that could've been, paint isn't...the worst...

[Or lack there of, huh? Hard to tell when he wears shirts that reach almost mid-thigh. Either way, this situation is ridiculous, but that's just life when you live with Guzma. As for the can, Guzma tries to cover it as quickly as he can, but there's still a casualty despite his efforts.

How she's holding that dagger makes him freeze for a second, till his eyes flick down towards her stockings.]

—Shit, my bad. [Better paint than blood, huh?] If ya get those in the sink, we can probably get the paint outta 'em. As for these pants, though...

[He looks to the mess he's containing between his hands.]

They're a lost damn cause.

Oh, dear...

[rest in stained pieces, pants. Lucina frowns thoughtfully.]

You...already packed and brought the rest of your clothes over...right?

Uuuuh....

[That's not promising. He looks from her, to the pants that're now basically dripping with paint, then back to her.]

I think so?

[He really, REALLY hopes so.]

[while trying to keep her mouth from twitching into an inadvertent smile:] I hope that's the case; I can't really...see you squeezing into any stockings or...or skirts...

Shall I go look? While you trash those?

Fuck no, I wouldn't be able to. I'd bust outta your stockings for sure—let alone your skirts.

[Which isn't to say he's opposed to that generally, just her skirts would maybe fit around his thigh. Guzma's got some hips on him.]

Yeah, my stuff's in our room—[Man, saying that gives him a slight flutter of warmth in his chesk]—if I did bring my clothes, they'd be in a black duffle bag.

[And while she does that, he'll be...looking for something to put these damn pants in. Maybe there's some trash bags in here? Something??? Man, where's Tupp's Grimer when you need it.]

[honestly? Lucina thinks he's going to actually set them on fire to destroy all evidence. this is because Lucina doesn't know about paint and vapors and how that's generally a bad idea. she is not the brightest of diamonds, but dammit, she still sparkles.

she makes a brisk bee-line up to their room, making a point of not making eye contact with any bugs along the way because she will not be judged for this right now, roaming around the scattering of boxes and...back alley garbage can...? Guzma this is not how a person packs, but okay, that explains the odd smell. fair enough.

somehow, the absurdity of the situation gradually takes a backseat to the action itself -- namely, she, the girlfriend, dutifully searching through her man's belongings for pants. the domestic and intimate nature of the act settles in and makes her feel rather fluttery in the way him saying our room did him in, and for a moment she just stands there like a dope...a dope holding pants upside-down.

oh.

right.

pants. good! she chuckles and sighs out the whimsy of the moment (and the idea of Guzma wearing her goldfish-patterned stockings) before hurrying back in, holding her find out triumphantly.]

You are in luck! We won't have to make a detour before dinner to get you clean clothes. We can toast to your foresight later.

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