Troll duels always ran a legitimate risk of death.
Which was precisely the reason Eridan regretted issuing his first challenge to Sol.
They had warped to an area of the lab full of tubes of green liquid, with twitching, half-formed soldiers inside them. Eridan's initial thought had been that he could use the encasements for cover, sniping at Sol as he slipped gracefully between them.
The reality, however, was that he had just given Sol an entire arsenal of shit to throw at him.
He pressed his back to one of the glass towers, panting. His teeth rattled as a second glass tower exploded against his from behind. He clutched his gun close as he watched shards whip past his face and go tinkling to the floor beyond him.
Shaking, he got to his feet just as the tube he had been leaning against began to groan and tremble. He scrambled toward the next nearest glass encasement, throwing himself behind it just as the one he'd left behind was enveloped in red and blue light. With a scream of breaking glass, it was wrenched from the ground. Green liquid gushed over the broken base like blood, surging toward Eridan. But it didn't reach him before the hovering tube did, after it was launched in his direction.
Eridan pulled his knees and gun to his chest, making sure to keep his elbows in as his new glass tube shuddered from the impact, pebble-sized fragments raining down on him. He got to his feet again, scurrying to the next tube, trying to avoid slipping on the glass and green fluid on his way.
"How long are you going to keep running?" he heard Sol snarl from somewhere above him. He had taken to using his psionics on himself to hover in the air, an advantage that Eridan thought was most unfair. He peered around his new glass encasement just in time to see two large shards of glass hurtling toward him. He yanked his head back in, and the sharpened fragments went flying past him and into the wall beyond.
He was very quickly running out of cover.
"Come on!" Sol shouted. "Thith wath your idea! Thtop acting like an overgrown cluckbeatht and fight."
Eridan squeezed his eyes shut. This was wrong. Things weren't supposed to go this way at all. He was supposed to utterly dominate Sol, leaving no room for any question of his superiority to squeeze itself into. Sol was supposed to at least lose one limb before his resounding defeat, after which he would prostrate his disgusting mustard bloodied body at Eridan's feet. And then, if Eridan was feeling generous, he would allow the humiliated and possibly armless Sol to crane his neck toward his vanquisher and place a delicate kiss upon one of his rings. After such display of deference, Eridan would consider mercy. He would then disregard it completely and parade his broken battle spoil before Fef, who would immediately acknowledge her mistake in abandoning someone as highborn and powerful as her previous moirail. They would then engage in the most royal of makeouts before their new lowblood trophy.
The vision made him dissolve into a watery smile.
"Are you joking me right now? Pleathe thay yeth. Jutht. Thay yeth, becauthe having you thitting here daydreaming while broken glath ith falling around your head ith jutht inthulting."
Sol was hovering before him now, swathed in a flickering haze of red and blue light. His eyes were spitting sparks from behind his bi-colored glasses, and his fangs were bared. He swept both arms above his head and the glass tube that Eridan had been leaning against was wrenched from the floor with a crack that made Eridan's teeth rattle. Green ooze gushed over him, so shockingly cold that Eridan felt as if a pair of claws had reached into his lungs and ripped the breath from his body. Floundering, he tried to stand, but the current sent him back to his knees, the liquid surging over his head. Surprised, he took in a gill full of the stuff before he broke the surface. Gagging as the goop stuck fast in the slits on his neck, he sloshed forward a few steps before splashing back to his knees and using his fingers to try and clear the mess away.
"What'th the matter? Aren't you thuppothed to be one of the high and mighty thea dwellerth? Ithn't breathing underwater thuppothed to be your thing? Tell me now if it'th not your thing, I'll gladly take back that humiliating ath handing I jutht therved you. Exthept I won't. That there wath my attempt at a joke at your exthpenthe. How did I do?" Sol hovered in the air, his arms still raised and flickering with red and blue light.
Eridan coughed, continuing to try and clear his gills of the green slime. "Whatever Sol, like you could ever even hope to dint the pride of sea dwelling royalty like—"
He was cut short as the light surrounding Sol's hands faded, and the glass tube came smashing down over Eridan's head.
"Oopth, I'm thorry, I think I meant to let you finish," Sol snapped without even making the barest attempt to hide the scorn in his voice. His flashing eyes remained fixed on Eridan as the sea dweller emerged from the crust of broken glass, dazed and bleeding. "That ith, I meant to let you before I realithed how much I don't give a shit about thith thtupid duel at all. Like, I didn't think it was pothible to give leth of a shit than I did when you challenged me, but you've proved me wrong. Do you want thome kind of award? Like, 'here'th the motht monthtrouth raving idiot that ever crawled out the mother grub'th birthing thphincter.' I'll jutht have that thtamped on a trophy for you, to commemorate how completely moronic thith ith in every way."
Eridan crawled from the slime, bits of glass clinging to his sopping clothes. He trembled as he pulled himself onto a dry patch of tile, purple blood dribbling from his palms and down his forehead. He wiped his mouth as he turned to glare at Sol through glassy eyes, smearing his face with purple and green.
"Actually, I think I detherve a moron trophy too for ever agreeing to thith. Theriouthly, I'm jutht the wortht kind of idiot. The kind that acceptth challengeth from raving douchebagth like you and expectth thomething from them. You didn't even make an effort to fight back. I'm kind of thtarting to wonder if thith wathn't thome thort of twithted attempt to make me pity you. I mean, wath it? Wath thith actually a red tholithitation? Pleathe shoot me if it wath. Jutht. Pleathe."
So Eridan shot him.
He clutched his hot gun back to his chest, trembling as Sol fell from the air in an extremely satisfying sort of spiral. The lowblood crashed to the ground, sliding across the goo covered floor. As he came to a rest, he sat up, clutching his shoulder. Blood the color and consistency of grub pus trickled between Sol's fingers.
"Fuck! Athhole!" he shouted.
"And just so you know, that was not some sort of self-loathin' verification of the slander you were givin' me before, because this isn't even close to anything red." Eridan got to his feet then, still shaking and bleeding his royal purple everywhere, but trying to pull off the haughtiest pose he could muster. "The reason I shot you was because you were bein' a complete idiot and rantin' right in front of me like some big steamin' nutrition plateau of open target. Who are you even tryin' to kid with that sort a maneuver, it's about the most amateur thing in the book honestly."
Sol took his hand from the wound on his shoulder, balling his fists. His disgusting pussy blood dripped down his arm. "I am going to kill you. It'th dethided. I am going to get hold of your tongue, rip it from your mouth and uthe it to thtrangle you."
"That's pretty forward a you, to be honest," Eridan said, feeling his stomach twist. He couldn't be certain if the knotted feeling was due to such a bald caliginous threat or the fact that he really didn't want his own tongue wrapped around his neck under any sort of circumstance. "I mean, wow, I came in here just hopin' to have a little duel, but you're takin' it way outta proportion here with black material like that. I mean jeez, Sol, should I get us a pail or something?"
"Are you kidding me with thith?" Sol snapped. "Theriouthly, I thuddenly don't even want to kill you anymore, you are jutht that fucking pathetic. Like, that'th it. Dethire to kill completely drained."
"Well, you don't gotta get all embarrassed about it, Sol, I mean sure, someone of your breeding is way too far beneath me for it even to be worth considerin', but I guess since you're so desperate I could at least humor you or something," Eridan goaded. He could not help but keep a grin from spreading over his lips.
Things were starting to look up. Maybe the duel itself wasn't going exactly as he'd planned it, but he had now caught Sol in his sordid black snare. It was painfully obvious that he had angered the poor helpless mustard blood to the point where he was yearning desperately for Eridan to yield him some caliginous reward. Sol was now so caught up in the obvious heat of the moment that he couldn't help but be forward and blunt in his responses to Eridan's barbs, and now he was back-pedaling in abashment. It was really rather adorable.
Eridan decided, then, that perhaps it wouldn't be such a terrible thing, this ploy to work the pathetic land dweller in his quest to court Fef. In fact, it was the red quadrant he'd reserved neatly for his fellow sea dweller. If Sol wanted to stake a claim in Eridan's blacker prospects, who was the sea dweller to deny him? Because Eridan knew how well kept and attractive his quadrant lawnrings were. Because that was still a running metaphor he was intent on using. It would be especially satisfying to see Fef's reaction when her shiny new shitstain of a matesprit was noisily setting up camp in Eridan's irresistible lawnring.
It was hard being so awesome and attractive sometimes, it really was.
"Thith can't even be real. No. I refuthe to accthept the fact that you are thtanding there, thmiling. Like the prothpect of me reaching up your wathte chute and pulling your gillth out your theedflap ith thomehow appealing to you." Sol's fists loosened, and he now regarded Eridan with a sort of mystified revulsion. Blood dripped from his knuckles and onto the tile below him, peppering the black floor with yellow.
"Well, you keep hittin' on me, it's kinda embarrasin'. I got an honest to cod royal purple blush goin' on here," Eridan replied, touching his cheek. But he wasn't blushing, of course. As if he could be so moved by Sollux's clumsy death threats, as black and lusty as they were.
Sol raised his hands, the rancorous glow that had been flickering behind his eyes suddenly dying. "Thith ith a wathte of my time. I have better thingth to be doing right now than having you continue to mithtake my antagonithm ath thome kind of weird invitation to fill bucketth." He began to walk back toward the transportalizer.
Suddenly all Eridan's self-assured images of a prostrate Sollux setting up a tent on his kismesis lawnring vanished like a bubble on the tip of a pin. He was left hugging his Ahab's Crosshairs, stunned by Sol's sudden reproach. But only for a moment. Soon he was scrambling after his adversary, nearly slipping on the slime that still slathered the tile.
"Wait, come on Sol, what are you doin'?" he cried as he tried to catch up. "I thought we had a really good thing goin' there, what happened?"
"No. I refuthe to even try to reathon with you anymore, it'th not even worth it."
"I mean, that fight was good, wasn't it? I mean, you really didn't go about it in the proper way, like your dueling etiquette is awful, but besides that, it was really goin' somewhere. I mean, we nearly killed each other, it was pretty intense." As Eridan stumbled alongside Sol, his voice grew a pleading edge.
"That fight wath a joke, and you're a joke. And it wathn't even the kind you can look back and laugh at. It wath the kind of joke that you look back on, and it'th jutht awkward for everyone involved. You and thith duel are the unfunny, awkward joke and I'm jutht going to do my betht to forget they ever happened." Sol's tone was flat, and he never cast the sea dweller even a sidelong glance as he marched flat-footed toward the transport panel at the back of the room.
"Wait, come on, you're actin' like this is my fault or something," Eridan replied, his voice cracking with desperation. He increased his pace to keep up with Sol, his wet cape slapping at his heels. "I mean, you were the one practically invitin' me to open up a quadrant for you, I mean, I'm not even interested, I was just bein' receptive to the idea to spare your worthless yellow pride."
Sol stopped before the transportalizer and rounded on Eridan. "That'th jutht the point. Every time you talk you make the point. Which ith that you don't fucking lithten. Ever. Not even to yourthelf. I thought thith wath thuppothed to be a platonic duel in which I handed your ath to you on a thilver nutrition plateau. I'm not the one making black advantheth, it'th you. Tho I'm telling you outright, for all the goddamned good it will do, thinthe we've already ethtablished that you're incapable of uthing your auditory ductth. But I'm tho pithed off right now that I jutht don't even care.
Eridan, you are a dethperate fuck and everyone knowth it. I mean, jutht look at how fatht Feferi and Vrithka tore out of your quadrantth the minute they had the chanthe. Hell, I didn't even fucking try with Feferi, but she wath tho happy to have thomeone who wathn't a pathetic piethe of garbage to talk with that she practically flung herthelf into my quadrant."
Eridan felt his stomach twist with a feeling that was neither fear nor the twinge of black romance that he'd felt before. This twist burned, and the pain crawled all the way up his throat to the back of his mouth. He swallowed several times, but the stinging wouldn't go away. Nor would Sol's words.
He was wrong. He had to be. Eridan was better than that. He could handle quadrants like no one else. And yet, the more fervently he tried to brush away Sol's barbs, the deeper they seemed to lodge into his skin. The stinging pain crawled to the back of his eyes.
There were some truths Eridan knew. He just liked to avoid looking at them directly.
"Nothing to thay to that, huh? Shit, don't tell me I actually made it through your fishy thpine bulge and into your thinkpan. I might jutht fucking die of shock," Sol barked.
"Maybe I just don't even feel like wastin' my breath on you, since you obviously can't tell a duel from a black advance, or flighty fish princess who's splashed off the deep end from a matesprit. Like I'd be fuckin' desperate enough for either a you guys, that's just fuckin' insulting."
His voice was quiet though, and not even Eridan was sure he believed it.
Sol gave a mirthless bark of laughter. "The thad thing ith, you are dethperate for both of uth. I gueth you're jutht the only one who refutheth to thee it."
Sol turned and stepped onto the transportalizer then, vanishing in a flash of white light.
Eridan stood frozen in place for a long time, slime and purple blood continuing to drip quietly to the floor. The pain of his wounds increased steadily as he remained, the room seeming to darken around him.
At last he sat on the floor, pulling his cape over his head. Sometimes it helped him believe he was hiding the tears from even himself.