The finery that Eridan found himself decked out in certainly left little to the imagination. Here he stood in one hell of a maid's outfit. Sure, he was certain that on some level it was absolutely shameful and degrading, but that was the least of his concerns, he figured. He hated the thought of submitting to which ever douchebag had issued this order, but he did not want to risk whatever harm might have come to him if he went against the order. After all, he did not want to show his hand before his employer did. That was what a good general did.
But that did not stop the entire ordeal from being horribly embarrassing.
Absolutely fucking disgraceful, right down to its core.
He was the successor to the infamous Orphaner Dualscar, a legendary warrior and the original user of Ahab's Crosshairs.
Eridan Ampora was not some sort of low blood commoner who was to do menial tasks for some sort of party in a little skirt. He had almost-imperially violet blood, almost on equal to the empress's blood. Just shy a few shades and he could have been an emperor himself instead of Feferi. However, even if his blood was lacking just the right shade, it did not, by any means, mean that Eridan Ampora was anything other than nobility. The fact even further made the sea dweller’s fins ripple with agitation as he thought about it, stomping his stilettos right across the room to see what work he was being pressed into doing.
Thus far, it seemed that he was the only one within his group to have arrived at this workstation. He frowned slightly at the thought of having to do all of this alone while some other group of dirt crawling douchebags got to be lazy for a few minutes longer. Though, the longer he was alone, the longer he figured that he would get to work in silence and not be taunted by whoever was to come in about being dressed in some servant maid's uniform.
Though, it was kind of nice, the Prince thought, as he smoothed his hands over the patterned skirt and looked down at the rather nice fishnets he had been assigned to wear. It looked damn good to him, even if it was absolutely shameful and otherwise moderately traumatizing.
As much as he was embarrassed about his appetence, Eridan mused that it could, at least, strike up some conversation. Maybe those he was working with might actually find it nice, or maybe compliment his legs. An even better scenario was the possibility that a person might even enter the room to see him and feel an immense amount of pity for the aquatic prince having to be forced into some sort of horrible, awful dress and pressed into servitude. That was the stuff that Karkat’s little romcom movies were made of, he imagined.
Hell, he definitely felt more than enough sorry for himself for that reason.
Quietly, and with minimal bitching audible, Eridan started his search through the party supplies and the gift bags, pulling a face. The colors consisted mostly of silver and blue--no elegant or imperial purples to be found in the entire bunch. The more he thought about it, the more disgusted he became with his employer's tastes of the issue.
He just hoped whoever he was stuck with would take care of most of this slave work for him once they arrived.
EXP: 576/2 = 288
Total EXP: 2195
Vriska would have been pissed off about waking to an obvious disaster zone if it hadn't been immediately clear to her that this was a competition. The fact that she was going to win almost didn't bear mentioning, because it was kind of like calling Karkat loud, but...maybe recent events merited a little reaffirmation. Just to up morale! Yeah!!!!!!!!
That done, she was still in probably the least fashionable thing she'd seen in her life next to Tavros's Pupa Pan costume. God she hated just how dopey that thing looked on him. It just added insult to injury that it almos--right but that was in the past, Tavros was dead, and she was free of that maelstrom of confusing emotions. No use lingering on that or on the messages she left behind, stupid and melodramatic as they were. Really. Nobody better've t8ken th8t stuff too s8riously or 8nything.
Come to think of it, what if John was in this competition?
And who knew, maybe her victory wouldn't even kill him. She and her rotten luck were still alive, in spite of Redglare's cowardly backstabbing (god that Terezi, sinking so low, Vriska would almost be proud if it weren't so inconvenient for her), so thinking about her odds at this point would probably just result in more misfortune on her part.
--Well, maybe it was a bit late for that to begin with. After taking in the frilly nuisance of a dress that would have her other nuis--Kanaya looking whiter than usual, Vriska's vision eightfold landed on Eridan Ampora and informed her without a single glimpse into the future just how much shit this encounter intended to suck. It didn't help that she still got the distinct, revolted tug of caliginous--ugh, she wasn't even going to think the word. Still, something about it was like an old flame--an iron in the fire long past due. It was the kind of thing she might bitch at him about before, complain about how she hated him so much she was actually starting to get tired of it and that was also his fault, but now he'd just take it the wrong way. Maybe the most o8noxiously frustr8ting thing about it was that she wasn't sure what her inclinations meant; did toying with his feelings mean she hated him enough to share them, or was it just the most apt instrument at her disposal?
Bluh. Regardless, it was undoubtedly the latter.
But first, a lengthy, breathless series of gratingly high-pitched cackles at his expense. "And I thought my outfit was an eyesore! Next to you, I might as well join a pageant," finished with an appropriately mocking twirl as she stepped past him. Everything about it screamed crush me for that, you know you want to~.
Walking in the heels was the hard part. At first she mistook the unfamiliar sensation for nearly stepping on an 8-sided die and automatically drew her foot to one side to sweep it out of her way. But luck or balance or both kept her upright and stepping over to screw with the party favors. "What are we even supposed to be doing here?" She scoffed before he could answer. "Never mind, you don't know and I don't c-are. Let's just get this over with and crush the competition!" A contemptuous cut of her eyes over her poufy orange shoulder at him. "Just don't get in my w-ay. You can manage that at least, right?"
Overdoing it? Maybe. Would it work?