Be the sea dweller lowblood.

This is actually a pretty typical afternoon for you.

There are times when you really hate being a SEA DWELLER. Being at the bottom of the hemospectrum sucks roe. On days like this, you half consider slicing off your own fins. It won’t change your blood color, but even trying to pass as a SUBJUGGLATOR would be better than being a sea dweller.

But you’d much rather slice off the head of the next LAND DWELLER that looks at you funny.

You can’t do that, though. Not unless you want to get culled on the spot.


Your name is ERIDAN AMPORA, and you have a ROTTEN BANANA PEEL on your head.

You are ten solar sweeps old, which means you’ve been living off of Alternia for several seasons now. But you are fast approaching your eleventh wriggling day, and you only have one quadrant filled. And you have no job. When the imperial drones come around with the FILIAL PAILS, you’re glubbed. Of course, as usual, you BLAME THE STATUS QUO RATHER THAN YOUR OWN FAILINGS.

Flowing through your veins is nearly the filthiest blood the hemospectrum has to offer, almost lowest on the scale. As such, you are a SEA DWELLER, an inferior race of troll distinct from your betters by mutation and habitat, an out-caste which serves under the entire species.

In your youth, you had something of a GENOCIDE COMPLEX, making it your sworn duty to KILL ALL LAND DWELLERS in order to ascend to a less benighted social status. But you were unable to acquire any allies or resources in this cause, and eventually gave it up. Now you think the whole idea was silly. You were a silly kid.

You hold a fascination for SOCIO-POLITICAL HISTORY AND REVOLUTIONARY LEADERS. Due to the controversial nature of your idols, you rarely ever bring them up, but you are secretly enthralled with their stories, which tell of the SOLIDARITY OF THE OPPRESSED and the INJUSTICE OF THE MINORITY-MAJORITY RULE and CLASS STRUGGLE and ROMANTIC INTRIGUE. You hide this part of yourself as well as you can, but occasionally your personal outrage leads to IMPASSIONED EMOTIONAL OUTBURSTS, and thus most people tend to regard you as a BIT OF A FOOL.

You suppose you had better get this peel off your horn and go home to clean up. Today is the day you are going to attempt to fill one of your empty quadrants, and you’re not gonna successfully woo anybody if you smell like a dumpster. Not anybody you’d want to woo, at least.

What will you do?

And who are you wooing in which quadrant, anyway?

Make a friend.

A friend? Seriously? HERE?

With whom, exactly? You’re surrounded by land dwellers. True, they ARE all low bloods. You are not in the highest class areas of SURROGIA’s mega-metroplex, and in fact it would not be inaccurate to call this area a SLUM. But low bloods or not, they are still land dwellers. You hate them and they hate you.

Besides, you already have friends. Yes, friends plural.

Well, okay, so it’s only two.

And you haven’t heard from one of them since you were five sweeps old.

Have a flashback.

You even used to be KISMESES. In a “childhood grudge” kind of way. It was never very serious. But she said you could still be friends/enemies when she dumped you, and she never exactly took that back, so you suppose you can still count her on your list. Even if only due to a technicality.

Of course, to this day you assume she dumped you because she didn’t want an interracial relationship.


You still don’t know why exactly she stopped talking to you. It’s probably because she got sick of you and your revolutionary ideas. Sometimes you lay it on a little thick, and okay, you get it, maybe that’s a bit off-putting, but these are seriously serious issues. In any case, she just stopped talking to you one day and never started again, and you never found out why.


Sometimes you still wonder whatever became of her.

Vriska: Don’t be dead.

You can totally handle that. Why would you be dead, anyway? You have too many irons in the fire for you to afford to die.

You wonder if any other troll on Surrogia has as many irons in the fire as you. YOU DOUBT IT.

Eridan: Go home already.

You go home already. Your ability to completely ignore the presence of land dwellers when you’re in a bad mood makes this scene rather easy to illustrate.

There is a bulletin board with job listings on the way. You suppose you might as well stop and read that as you go by. Even though you KNOW there will be nothing worth taking.

You can’t stop for long, though. Not unless you want to risk running into the troll who tossed you in the dumpster. Which was completely uncalled for and unprovoked and you absolutely did nothing at all to prompt it.


Okay. So sue you. It was not your proudest moment.

But a guy’s got to eat, and you are tired of mooching food off of your moirail/roommate/only friend. You are already mooching a place to sleep, since you cannot pay rent. And since she is somehow even lower on the hemospectrum than you, you feel particularly bad. Way to exploit your underclass, you hypocrite.

You are just lucky he threw you in a dumpster instead of the sewer. Just because you can breathe underwater, that does not mean you want to get your gills full of load gaper discharge.

In retrospect, you wonder why you thought you would catch anything edible.

Eridan: Go fishing for jobs.

See? Just like you thought. Nothing worth taking. Only a few of the listings are open for anything lower than indigo, and those that you CAN take are terrible.

No. It’s not just the fact that that’s nasty, it’s the fact that the job will kill a sea dweller. A land dweller that takes it gets an air tank, and can’t do as much underwater; but a sea dweller is just tossed in the drink, and has to filter all the toxins through his own body. They pay is excellent, but if you survive long enough to get your first paycheck, it will all go to your hospital bill.

Food service is for losers. And so you’ll keep refusing to do it as long as you remain in denial. The fact that this job is open up through blue bloods does nothing to change your mind.

Besides, you’ve heard unnerving rumors about what Sssky’sss owners do with sea dweller employees.

Hell no. You don’t let the “imperial” fool you, you know ALL about imperial acquatic scouts. They are sent into enemy territory to scope out the opposition, and once they report in, they are left to die. If they refuse to report in, telepaths are used to read their minds, their lovers are killed in retaliation, and then they are left to die.

You can tell the job is a trap because nobody even bothered to give it an ominous portmanteau name, like NINJAQUATICS or something. You would absolutely sign up to be a ninjaquatic if that were actually a thing that existed.

And on and on. All of the jobs are either too dangerous, or too far beneath you.

The reason you are jobless might be because you think that if a job will take YOU, then it’s not a job you want.