Hahaha

hahaha

sorry for late night shit

I LOVE ERISOL SO MUCH LEAVE ME OLONE

blep

Well at least you tried, Eridan.

for the writing prompt: fem!eridan and vriska fighting/sniping while subtly implying their gf is better

Super rough, this one. Thanks for the awesome prompt!! Absolutely obsessed with this.

"Why are you bothering me?"

The ship needed routine maintenance, and without a crew, the work fell to Vriska. She had been broken up with Eridan for two sweeps, but selling the boat would send off the wrong message. Something like "I only bought it for you" or, worse, "I can't be on the sea without thinking of you". Which, no, it wasn't that big a deal. The whole relationship was about their ancestors -- Eridan herself? Vriska could honestly care less.

That being said, the rope holding the anchor is fraying, which means that the rope that more or less holds the craft together is capable of fraying, and of course that means that Eridan is here to flaunt her imagined superiority, right when Vriska has more important things to worry about. Just great.

"That's no way to greet an old friend," Eridan's tone suggests that she is enjoying this immensely.

"Well I don't see any of those," Vriska deadpans, running the heavy rope through her point stumps and trying to simulate in her mind how long it will take for the rope to actually snap.

"You're not looking at me."

"Do you need something?" Vriska snaps, dropping the rope to the deck with a heavy thud and finally turning to her solicitor. Eridan smiles like the purrbeast with the cream, decked to the nines (eights) in heavy gold rings, a cape that kisses the deck, her long scarf, flapping in the wind, and those stupid pants. She hasn't changed at all.

"I was wonderin' if we could spar," Eridan gurgles out in her weird seadweller accent that stretches the W's into throaty waves. "Like old times."

"Do I have to?" Vriska asks, feeling like she already knows the answer. Eridan's rifle is out of its holster. It doesn't dwarf her like it did in the past, it fits nicely in her hands, she doesn't struggle to hold it up, which is dangerous to a girl down on her luck. The dice are out before Vriska has a chance to consciously think about it.

"I have a new kismesis," Eridan says conversationally. To someone else, it might've sounded casual. Vriska can tell she is practically vibrating with the excitement of it.

"Do you want me to be jealous or something? Congrats."

It's just the right thing to say to Eridan, who does want her to be jealous, who wants to be seen as a prize that everyone is vying for. She always hated Vriska blacker than Vriska could ever hate her.

With a snarl, the rifle goes off, a warning shot meant to make Vriska jump. She does not jump. The shell lands somewhere in the ocean behind her.

"Polluting?" Vriska lunges forward. "Nasty."

Dodging her prosthetic claws, Eridan sets her rifle up for the next shot. With a flick of her wrist, Vriska has an axe, heavy even distributed across both hands, one augmented. It's not a bad choice, she can move quickly with it, and it's hefty enough to work as a shield too, if she's lucky and holds it parallel to her shoulders. Either way, it'll make Eridan's job more difficult, and for that Vriska thanks the dice.

"Aren't you doing to ask who?" Eridan shoots again. It's loud, and it embeds itself into the mast of Vriska's ship. Now she's angry.

"I actually couldn't care less. Stop destroying my ship," she snaps.

"It's Sol," Eridan discloses like she's telling Vriska some great secret.

"Ew," Vriska says reflexively. "Does she even use her ablutionchamber? She's always online."

"Don't talk shit about her hygiene," Eridan gives Vriska an opening, which she gladly takes. She attempts to disarm her opponent, grabbing at her forearms and leaning on her one-handed strength. Eridan holds fast. "That's my job."

Vriska wrenches the rifle out of Eridan's grasp and chucks it overboard without a second thought.

"What the fuck?"

"Fetch," Vriska commands flippantly. "You swim, right?"

Eridan doesn't move except to ball her hands up into fists, to shake with some sort of effervescent rage. It's not going to work on her. Vriska has a mast to take care of, rope to replace, and finances to lust after. Serves Eridan right. She goes back to her diagnostics.

"Sol is a better kismesis than you ever were," Eridan shouts.

Vriska can barely help rolling her eyes. "I find that hard to believe."

"Like you'd know. You don't even have a kismesis. I was the only one. You can't compare at all. I bet that makes you angry."

Vriska sighs, deciding that she's not going to get any work done as long as Eridan is here. "Your information is outdated."

"What?"

"Yeah, I've been with Terezi for ages. Not sure where you're getting your intel. The same place you got the scoop when we were FLARPing? That explains a lot."

Eridan mouths something -- there might be words behind it, but Vriska can't hear her over the crashing waves. Nor does she particularly want to hear.

"Terezi, huh?"

"Yeah. She's a lot less pathetic than you. I couldn't even hate you right, you were just always so pitiable. Platonically, of course. I never really wanted to fix your soggy ass."

Eridan is gaping now, like a fish.

"Sol doesn't pity me at all. Her hatred for me is the blackest variety. Darker than the pitted trenches of the sea. It's not your run-of-the-mill hatred, it's the type they write sonnets about. Epics," she quite literally spits. Flecks of saliva fly out from behind her teeth. It's disgusting.

"Cool," Vriska pretends to dislodge something out from under her nails. "Are you done yet?"

"You know what? Yeah. Fuck you, Vris," Eridan turns with a dramatic sweep of her cape. She spits right onto the deck before jumping off the side after her rifle.

It might, Vriska reflects, be time to sell this piece of junk before Eridan takes its value down further.