As much as Eridan wanted to go chasing after Sol so that the mustard blooded idiot couldn't even have more than a few seconds to entertain the illusion of victory, there were a few problems that prevented this. The first was that he was still soaking wet, and very much unclothed. The second was that he was still flustered by the lowblood's sudden flushed ministrations.

A bit more than flustered, really. Rock hard might have been a more apt description.

As easy as it probably would have been to relieve himself, alone and disrobed in the bathroom, the thought of using the flushed stimulus of the jackass that had just stripped him of any dignity he may have had left was not exactly appealing. So instead he decided the best course of action would be to gather up his clothes and try to find all his scattered jewelry while hating Sol as hard as he possibly could in the process.

But not in that way. Because he was trying to calm down and he wanted to leave the bathroom eventually.

He muttered to himself rather loudly as he shuffled across the tile, bending down whenever he saw something glittering. And though his curses and maledictions were of a uniquely creative nature that only the likes of his unparalleled aristocratic genius could conjure (things like bucket-sniffer and pus-blood), he still found himself distracted by a deep sense of dread that he had indeed taken a stunning swan dive off the deep end.

He hated to think that anything that came tumbling clumsily out of Sol's lisping face hole could have any sort of relevance or justification, but the way his stomach was twisting seemed to suggest that the lowblood may have been right.

Of course he didn't want to believe it. He strained against the weight of Sol's words, a weight that he feared was substantiated with truth. He clung desperately to a white flicker of hope buried in his chest, trying to pull a newfound sense of resolve from it. He hadn't lost yet, he tried to convince himself. Sol had tried to give up the concupiscent feelings he held, but it was obvious that he was still trapped in the hopeless throes of lust. Eridan plucked his largest ring from the floor, clutching it tightly in his fist, and feeling the gem engraved with his sign pressing into the skin of his palm. His lips pulled back over his fangs in what was some sort of grin, though it felt twisted with a sick sense of relief.

That awful feeling of having lost was behind him. He was still Dualscar. He still had the ability to pull a reaction from Sol's quivering, lowblooded body.

And yet…

The grin crumbled from his face, and he scooped his glasses from the tile, holding them up to the light to inspect them. Cracked and scratched and bent. Hardly useable anymore. He tried to put them back on, just to make sure, but they were now so crooked as to be comical. He tore them off and flung them to the floor in disgust.

He would have to go back to his room to pick up a spare set of clothing. He was glad he'd had the foresight to duplicate his wardrobe more than a few times. Though he could have done without Sol's disdain for it. Maybe he would rip the mustard blood's shitty excuse for an outfit from his body. Then they would see who was the real idiot for duplicating his clothing.

He found himself lingering over that image for longer than he would have liked. He also hated wondering if that would elicit an equally black response from Sol. He didn't like caring so much about whether or not his antagonisms could pierce the land dweller's façade of indifference. But he couldn't help it. After straining for so long to get reactions out of Fef, Vris, Kar, and whoever else would give him the time of day, having Sol respond so explosively to his goading had been like having the breath punched suddenly from his lungs.

He pulled on his shirt and pants before stuffing his feet in his shoes. He would leave the cape and scarf. They were ruined anyways, and it didn't pay to drag them along. Still sore from his ordeal, he shuffled over to the transportalizer and found himself whisked back to the main section of the lab. He made his way slowly back to the circle of transport panels that had been designated for use as their own private quarters. As he walked, his head continued to spin.

He was just desperate, a small voice in his head assured him. That's all this was. Just another desperate, pathetic attempt to cling to someone in the raging sea that was his heart. He couldn't blame anyone for not wanting to act as a buoy in those constant storms. Because it was constantly stormy. He liked to think it was that way because he was born for greatness, and stagnant, tepid hearts were only for those born to stagnant and tepid destinies. But really, if he looked at it with any sort of self-respect, it was just a shitstorm of constant emotions, and no one could sit through it without getting green around the gills. Not even his own moirail.

But he was getting tired of treading water. He was tired of feeling like he was going to drown in his own heart.

He swallowed hard, furious with the way his throat had tightened. He picked up his pace as the circle of panels came into view, and he quickly stepped onto the one with his insignia. Once in his own private section of the lab, he made his way to the back room where he stored most of his items. He threw open the chest containing the duplicates of all of his clothing items and stripped out of his filthy garments before donning new ones. As he pressed a new set of glasses to his face, he stood before a mirror, peering at his reflection. His face was no longer smeared with blood, but one of his eyes was beginning to bruise, and his lower lip was still painfully swollen. He had looked better. He ran his fingers through his purple streaked hair and adjusted the collar of his cape before sighing and sagging back into a pile of shitty wands he'd created. There were several more of these unsightly mounds, of course. More than he could fit in his room without depriving himself of space completely. So he had done his best to store them in sufficiently secret locations. But the biggest and comfiest pile he'd taken care to leave in his room, for just such occasions that called for copious amounts of brooding.

He did not want to feel like this was just some desperate attempt to cling to any living thing that fell into him. And yet, Sol's sudden change in emotions… He tried to recall some of the old tales of conquest he had followed religiously in his earlier days. Yet, for those legendary admirals of destruction, destiny had always been clear. They had never been consigned to floundering for the rest of their lives. Rivals had risen from the ashes of their victories, and consummation of their undeniable pugnacity had happened as easily and naturally as night falling over the spent brimstone of conquest.

Yet his experience thus far with Sol had been messy. Nothing like the destiny he had come to believe in. The destiny that most trolls were supposed to believe in. Despite this, Sol's words came floating back to him. He had cooked himself a grubloaf made from an emotionally unstable lowblood. And as hard as it was to choke down, he refused to throw it out.

The great conquerors had never been consigned to floundering. But neither had they been destined for loneliness.

He pushed himself up from his wand pile and made his way out of his private quarters. He had done enough moping. It was getting him nowhere. He was not about to let Sol have the satisfaction of an easy victory. No one ever won easily against Eridan Ampora.

He tried to imagine the sort of entrance he would make back into the main area of the lab. Would Sol have already spread ghastly lies about his victory? Would the others maybe assume Eridan was dead? It was ridiculous, and he couldn't see Sol doing much else besides sulking at his computer because that was just the sort of washed up idiotic loser he was. It was a disturbing defect of the lower classes, they just did not know how to gloat properly. Though he supposed it was for the best in this case, and the habit did infuriate him, he supposed…

He hated how he continued trying to justify their black feelings to himself.

He decided to gauge the situation upon entering the room. Not the most graceful of plans, but he was in the midst of an emotional crisis and his face still hurt a lot. So he steeled himself as best he could and made his way onto the transportalizer leading to the main computer lab.

It was a bit of a shitstorm in there. The room was abuzz with activity, all of the trolls occupying a computer. Even Gam, which was a bit disconcerting since he had become inseparable from his horn pile since arriving in the veil. Kar was yelling loudly into his screen and Ter was seated next to him, snickering as her fingers beat noisily against the keys.

Everyone was so engrossed they hardly noticed when he appeared in the room. Not like they really took note of him before, he reminded himself in a sudden wave of despondency. He shoved the thoughts aside, instead choosing to be glad that he didn't waste his time coming up with some sort of grandiose entrance that would have just gone ignored anyway.

He found his target relatively quickly, seeing as she was gloating loudly, as ever. Thinking of it, maybe it was better that Sol was as stubbornly introverted as he was. His old kismesis had always been so wrapped up in her own mundane accomplishments that it was never gratifying to really lord anything over her. Just kind of frustrating and awful, and not in an alluring way.

They really never would have worked.

As good as it made him feel to acknowledge this and move past their immature rivalry, he hated the implication his brain formed in its wake. That it was because there was someone else who would work better.

He forced the thought from his head, reminding himself once again that he was in turbid waters and that it was the reason he was speaking with his washed up kismesis in the first place.

He approached her and cleared his throat loudly behind her. She swung around instantly, leering. It was as if she was expecting someone to come up and bother her. Eridan, however, was obviously not the troll she had been hoping for. Her face fell instantly, to be replaced with one cocked eyebrow and a mild lip curl.

"Oh it's you," Vris remarked flatly before turning back to her computer. "If you're done getting your ass handed to you, you should get on a computer and get while the getting is good for these humans. Or you can try at least. Since I already have the best human, and he's going to gain aaaaaaaall the levels."

"You can try to taunt me with whatever a human is but it's not goin' to work because I couldn't give less of a shit about it than I do right now," Eridan replied, though he tried to steal a glimpse at Vris' screen nonetheless.

She put a hand on the back of her seat, lifting an elbow into his line of sight. He blinked and scowled as she continued to smirk at him. "You can pretend you don't care, Dualscar, but I know you hate getting loot pilfered from under your royal nubs. You want a piece of these gullible humans, I can smell it."

"I'm not even remotely interested in your washed up and immature obsession with gainin' levels, Vris, it is seriously unbecomin'," Eridan snapped. "And I'll have you know that any black advances won't be appreciated right now, so don't even try to start thinkin' about initiatin' some sort a rivalry with me again. I am so done with that."

"That's not the same tune you were singing a few hours ago," Vriska put her chin on the back of her chair, her leer now somewhat lazy. "I'm sure it probably has something to do with all those dumb feelings you're always having that get in the way of winning. That's why you never win, Dualscar. Because of all your shitty dumb feeeeeeeelings."

She leaned forward as she drew out the last word, grinning and pressing a finger to his forehead. He swatted her away, his cheeks coloring with anger.

"They are not shitty or dumb, Vris, these are complex emotions which I understand are above the capacity for your think pan to bear. So I'm not goin' to tell you about them, don't even bother askin'."

"You're really overestimating how much I care about this," she replied, withdrawing her hand and tucking it under her chin, regarding Eridan with a bored expression. "Isn't this what you have our fearless leader for? I thought you guys were pale buds or whatever, not like I actually care what you do with your quadrants. Nobody actually cares what you do with your quadrants, Dualscar, and Kar just talks to you because he's got some morbid fascination with romantic conundrums."

"I'm not askin' for your fuckin' opinion a my situation, Vris," Eridan seethed. He had forgotten how infuriating she could be. "And I am not goin' to talk to Kar, he wouldn't understand. I came to ask about a certain item you have, seein' as it has suddenly become relevant to my interests."

"Ooooooooh?" Vris lifted her head, her sneer livened with a sharper edge. "So you admit you are still tempted by all the hoards of loot I am getting without you? That's too bad, Dualscar. If you would have gotten off your fishy ass and put in a bit of effort before now, you might have gotten something to barter with, but I seriously doubt it at this point."

"I don't need to barter with you Vris, you haven't even listened to my proposition and you're already runnin' away with it. I just hope you realize that this is why no one can stand you," Eridan snapped.

"Coming from you, that is really funny, Dualscar," Vris laughed. "The difference between you and me is actually more like everyone is just jealous of me because they are all so weak. Weaky weaky weaks. You are just a huge tool that no one can actually stand."

"Well that's you sayin' so and your opinion is like the dirt stuck to the tiniest crevice in the soles a my shoes and if that's not an accurate portayal a my opinion a you, Mindfang, then nothin' is," Eridan crossed his arms haughtily.

Vriska's gaze was starting to get dull again. "Okay, well, if using lame similes makes you feel better go ahead and do it, but I have much hotter irons in the fire right now." She turned back to her computer. Eridan glanced over her shoulder as she did, spying a small video feed where a strange pink alien sat amidst what looked to be the wreckage of a hive.

He paid it no mind. He couldn't afford to be getting wrapped up in Mindfang's exploits. Because no matter how hot her irons were, they could not be nearly as hot as Eridan's. Nobody had hotter irons than he did right now, of that he was certain.

"Right, well, are you goin' to listen to my proposition or not?" Eridan asked, keeping his arms crossed and a sufficiently disdainful scowl plastered to his brow.

"I'm not making any promises, Dualscar. You have been pretty boring up to this point," Vris replied, beginning to type into her Trollian chat client.

Eridan pursed his lips before dropping his arms and sighing. "I need your old journal, Mindfang."

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "Which journal?"

"Don't make me say it again, you know exactly which journal I'm speakin' about," Eridan replied. "I need it because it references my ancestor several times and I'm havin' a crisis a destiny here."

Vriska continued to type, her eyes moving back to the monitor. "No can do, Dualscar."

"What the fuck Vris, were you not even listenin' to me just now, this is fuckin' serious and I don't appreciate your attempts to withhold important items that I got a basic right to peruse," Eridan bared his fangs as he spoke, balling his hands into fists at his sides.

The corner of Vris' mouth twitched, and she put an elbow on the back of her chair, twisting around to look at Eridan again. "Why don't you find your own journal, Dualscar? Oh right, it's because your shitty ancestor had his effects destroyed by the Grand Highblood after he went to him like the weakblooded coward that he was."

"You know as well as I do that it was because a my ancestor that Mindfang got started on her downward spiral, so your slander means literally nothin' to me. Just give me the fuckin' book so I don't have to deal with your immature attempts to be aggravatin'."

"Who's being aggravating, Dualscar?" Vris asked, turning back to her computer to type a few words before eyeing Eridan again. "I'm just stating facts. If it's ancestor lore you want, you know you just have to ask. I know better than anyone about what happened. I probably know better than Mindfang herself. Don't even pretend like it was through some other means that you know anything about your weaky cluckbeast ancestor. I would never let you touch my hatchright."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Fine then, since I'm done exchangin' meaningless dialogue with you, why don't you just tell me about my ancestor's kismesissitude with Mindfang. Obviously it didn't work out but I want the details."

Vris leered. "Oh you want aaaaaaaall the details? Why would that be important all of a sudden? Trying to figure out who you were destined to be with, hmmmmmmmm? Because I know offhand that Dualscar never gets anyone before he dies dancing on his horns in front of the Subjugglator. He just wasn't funny enough I guess. Wow, you two have so much in common it's sort of uncanny isn't it?"

"Please, Vris, I am tryin' to have an adult conversation here and you are bein' a fuckin' wriggler about it," Eridan spat. "Besides, it isn't like that was even the fish I was anglin' to hook here, and if you would just keep your fangy face flap shut for two seconds you might be able to see that."

"All right, since you don't want to hear the good parts tell me which boring lame sections you're interested in so I can get back to all these irons. They are in the fire, did I mention that? Red hot and burning up all the competition."

"We've established that I don't give a flippin' damn about your irons, calescent or otherwise," Eridan retorted quickly.

"Fine, god," Vris rolled her eyes, pounding eight of some letter into Trollian before swinging her chair around to face the sea dweller. "Get to the point then."

"I want to know about why they had a fallin' out," Eridan said, his angry flush becoming less to do with anger and more to do with things of a concupiscent nature that had transpired not even an hour before. He hoped the nature of his embarrassment wasn't evident to Vris. Like he needed her holding that over his head.

"Who, Mindfang and your shitty weaky weak ancestor?" Vris asked, smirking. "I don't know, I didn't really pay much attention to that part. It was boring." She shrugged and turned back to her computer.

Eridan was ready to hit her. He could always count on Vris to lack the comprehensive abilities to determine the gravity of a situation, but this had to be the mucus on the grubloaf. She was being completely unreasonable and Eridan was sure it was all purposeful. The hag.

"Oh is that so? Didn't you say you knew Mindfang's journal as well as the gamblignant pirate queen herself? Because I'm sure Mindfang would have remembered something as significant as the downfall a her seething kismesissitude with the most royal and terrifyin' sea dwellin' scourge a them all."

"Quit flattering yourself, Dualscar, it's really annoying and nobody takes it seriously," Vris sighed. "And actually she really didn't care about her old washed up kismesis after he was out of the picture, so your little ploy to make me feel like I haven't done my studying was completely ineffective. But I guess I should just expect that kind of thing from you," she shrugged.

"Didn't it have somethin' to do with a slave or somethin' come on Vris I'm bein' really serious here and I know you know what I'm getting' at," Eridan replied, his voice taking on a pleading edge.

She grinned before rolling her eyes. "Fiiiiiiiine. God, you're no fun anymore Dualscar, just a big whiny emotional bag of emotions." She scrubbed at her scalp for a second, further ratting her already tangled mess of hair. "Dualscar started to feel red for Mindfang and so she ditched him. Since everyone knows that a kismesis who can't stay in his designated quadrant is only good for scraping the barnacles off the hull of the tiniest ship in the grand Marquise's fleet."

"Thanks for that illustrative measure but it was completely un-fuckin'-necessary," Eridan snapped. But inside, his entrails began tangling with a dizzying accompaniment of effervescent static. He felt sick and light at the same time.

It was now imperative that he locate Sol and his fucked up think pan.

He turned to leave, his gut still twisting, and Vris stared after him for a moment but ultimately shrugged and turned back to her computer. Under any other circumstance, the slight would have stung, but Eridan now had a thick wall of emotions hovering around him like some sort of adamantine armor. It distracted him so thoroughly that he almost didn't feel the hand closing around his wrist.

He blinked and turned, following the bangled wrist all the way up to its owner's face. Fef blinked at him through her goggles, her expression a bit forlorn.

"Are you going to duel with Sollux again?" she asked. Her voice was quieter than he was used to. It made his heart strain. He pushed the feeling aside, pulling his hand from her own more gently than he meant to and folding his arms across his chest.

"Maybe. Not like it matters to you or anything. Unless it's just him you're worried about. Which is fuckin' stupid, to be honest. Was he here?"

Fef frowned. "Yes, he was. And if you see him, you should tell him to come back because he was acting reely strange and not like himself. I think you two need to stop dueling, it's getting to be annoying and we need Sollux here to help with the humans anyway."

"Maybe he doesn't give a shit about them, like I don't, did that ever fuckin' occur to you?" Eridan sniffed, narrowing his eyes haughtily. "Maybe there are bigger things goin' on than your little pink aliens."

"I don't think so!" Fef replied, pursing her lips in an angry pout. "I think you two need to give it a rest for a while and have a sleep in the horn pile. Especially you, mister. I think a few hours on Derse would clear your nubby spine bulge!"

"There's nothin' there as needs clearin' okay? So why don't you just shove off? I don't need pale advice from you, Fef, seein' as you're not my moirail anymore, you're obviously not fuckin' fit to give it. You can't just decide to try and temper me whenever you feel like it, it doesn't flippin' work that way."

She sighed exasperatedly. "I don't know why I thought you would listen to me. You have always been impossible to speak to."

"We've already been over your feelins concernin' me, it doesn't need another round a rehashin' okay?" Eridan snapped, his throat tightening. "You think you're so coddamned perfect, Fef, but you're not, and I think Sol can see that too."

She sighed, more disappointed and exhausted than truly angry. "Dueling with people isn't the same as understanding them Eridan. But you always were sort of unskrilled when it came to interpersonal relations. Anyway, I just came over here because Kanaya wants to talk to you."

Eridan was about to retort that he understood the mustard-blooded shithead a lot better than she could possibly know when the barb died on his tongue, replaced with curiosity. He glanced over at Kan before giving Fef one last scathing look and sweeping across the room.

His cloak settled on the backs of his calves as he came to a halt beside the jade-blooded troll's computer. She didn't look up at him, but she did push a piece of paper over the table top toward him. He bent over it.

"It is the username and password to my lunchtop," she explained calmly as he scrunched his nose up at the neat writing.

"What the fuck would I ever need this for?" Eridan asked, plucking the paper up with his thumb and forefinger, holding it out at arm's length.

"Sollux is currently in possession of afore mentioned lunchtop," Kan explained. "I thought it might be of special interest to you."

Eridan squinted at her as she continued to stare at her monitor, unblinking.

"Just what exactly are you gettin' at here, Kan, how much do you know?" he asked, his voice dark with suspicion.

"Sollux told me nothing, if that is your concern," Kan replied. "I just have a sense for these things."

"Maybe you think you have a sense for these things," Eridan snapped. "But your intuition is a lot more inaccurate than you think and you never fuckin' interfere when it would actually be a some sort a fuckin' use to a brinesucker."

She turned from the computer and gave him a searching look. He tried to maintain her gaze, but eventually quailed under it, quickly stuffing the paper in his pants pocket. The corner of her mouth twitched slightly.

"I will spare you from admitting to the embarrassing specifics, but I would recommend finding a place to wait for Sollux to calm down in the mean time."

"Whatever Kan, like your advice is even wanted at this point," Eridan crossed his arms but fixed his eyes on the floor, his neck starting to get hot. Great. He was practically giving himself away at this point.

She gave him another searching look, her face blank save for the intense, almost curious deepness of her eyes. "You do want him to calm down, don't you?" she asked, her tone genuinely unsure.

He felt his face getting hotter. He had a distinct urge to hide in his cape. Kan could be the most infuriating of trolls sometimes. Infuriatingly accurate. So he simply chose not to answer and hoped the curiosity would work its wonders and kill the meddlesome broad.

She gave him a small smile that time. He wanted to hit it off her face. How was it possible for someone to read him when he wasn't even speaking? He cursed the purple blush that he knew had to be apparent on his cheeks.

"I'm just angry," he spluttered lamely.

"Of course you are," she replied, closing her eyes as she turned back to her computer. "Please think through the manner in which you use my computer's pass codes before doing so. Once Sollux finds out someone has viewed his information, he will likely reset the encryptions, even if it comes at my expense."

Eridan kept his gaze away from her as well, scowling. "Whatever you say, Kan, I guess I'm just blindly followin' anythin' that comes outta your mouth since you suddenly know so fuckin' much."

She smiled at her monitor. "Good luck, Eridan."

He exhaled sharply from his nose before turning on his heel, his cloak whipping about him. He marched from the room without looking back.