I'll burn this whole city down… for you


You belong to the gang.

And you say you can't break away.

But I'm here with my hands on my heart.


The body and the blood. The rummaging of them both was not the worst that could happen. The worst hadn't happened. It couldn't happen. It didn't. The red ran warm over skin and made filler for the cracks on the dirty concrete. Still not the worst that could happen. There was so much blood. Not even red and beautiful, as would suit the owner best. Muddled and stony blood could dig a channel into the cold-hard grit beneath them. That would not be the worst that could happen. Now it could run a deep passage with all the compassion it ran for. It was useless there, occupied in the body, the cell where it could show no passion, it was much better hemorrhaged here, out in the open. The wound cried innocence, but his composure, the bleeder's, was more than enough to be the worst.

No, this was the worst part. As he held the other beneath him, mind in turmoil, body at blank, he saw that the other was his complete opposite. The body and blood was still convulsing in it's solace hours, but he looked so at peace in those eyes. He wished he could trade places with him, and be the one to decompose into the dirt. He didn't deserve it.

This was the worst part, when his heart started breaking, because he never even had a chance to show him the halves.

"Get yer ass down 'ere, Gamzee! Don' be fuckin' with the Roll-call! It's unconscionable!" The faux-irate man stood at the bottom of the staircase, arms folded and lenient against the railings. It was a particularly wide staircase, but it didn't suit the little man at the bottom, portraying the foul language.

"Woah, Motherfucker. I'm comin', just had a late mornings'all." He stumbled down the dangerous-terrain that was stairs, hands balled up to his eyes as he still saw sleeper-dots.
"What's for breakfast, brother?"

"*sigh* … Yep. Yeah, brother, right. I thought I'd gotten it in your mind to quit that callin' people!"

"Nah brother. That ain't the point of being Family, y'know?" He smiled , well, attempted to. It came out looking like a 2 a.m. smirk. No less appropriate however, it always seemed like dusk to Gamzee.

He traipsed out to the kitchen-area directly across the room beyond the open living-room. He didn't need to, nor did he, look for where he was going. The lazy boy only studied his feet as he traced the familiar path.

"Good Mornin', Night Clowl! Hehe, I mean clown. No, Owl. Oh you know, anyways, how'd you wake up?… so late, I mean. You missed breakfast, so you get scraps today."

Gamzee groaned but crossed himself by giving a sincere smile at the bright, luminescent face in front of him. After all, how could you pull a long face in front of Feferi?

"You too, Fef"- he paused to rub a ringlet out of his hair behind his head. "Why scraps though, chica? You know we got plenty o' rations , heh. Not just pies." Fef pursed her lips some, and dotingly put her arm to her hip. "Oh glub, you and those seal-y cakes, or whatever. Come sit down, hon! Have some REEL food." Gamzee half-rolled his eyes with an enthusiastic smile. He was over-accustomed to her 'Sea-puns'. She did love the sea.

He indeed, proceeded to sit his lazy arse down at his spot on the table. The others had gone out, except for perhaps Equius as there was a brash mechanical noise out in the garage. "So. We're outta food, but I get to eat the last of them miracles?" Fef nodded gracefully, handing the last platter of food's excuse over. "Mhmm!~ We gotta get our sail-ves over to…. Well you know, the downtown area. *sigh" Her complexion suddenly dulled, and she looked years older. The boy also twitched a brow, forcing his food down more forcefully now. He held himself quite laxly. It was an awkward wirey frame for a boy his age, you could tell in the way his arm hovered above the table, the one holding the fork. "We're doin' the fuck ever what now, Fef?" The boy from before on the staircase, who had called down Gamzee now sauntered over picking at his teeth. "Oh. Hello Eridan. Yeah, you sea, we're fish outta supplies. Methinks Brining out every night isn't a healthy upkeep, so you better go get some new ones soon." She replied to this one a bit more auto-toned. Eridan quit picking at himself infront of his pocket-mirror and "UUUUGHHH! Noooo…." He ran his free hand over his face as if he was trying to peel back the skin on his lips. A… messy facepalm, if you will? "I- uh. Noooo-" 'Would you like some fresh fucking Cheese with that g'damn wine, Eridan?' thought Gamzee.

"Fine. Fine! Whatever, food's food. Shit is… shit. Rivalries are just that." He threw his hands up to some imaginary ceiling messiah, giving up his soul.

"Tsk tsk, Eridan. You know you don't have to go around flaunting your skirmishes like they're medals of honor. Just… sigh I don't know, do your best this time? No instigating… please?"

Eridan grabbed a chunk of rye off Gamzee's plate, rolling his eyes in the process and talking between mouthfuls. "Yeh shore, whatever pleases your grandeur, Fef." He scoffed. Gamzee raised a defensive hand from where he sat, trying not to pollinate the air with unnecessary tension. "I'll fucking accompany a brother, Fef. Don't you worry your pretty head about that. I'll take care of him if he pulls a fuckin' macho move, hehe"

Eridan stopped mid-chew to glare at the other, albeit Gamzee wasn't looking.

"I hate you, you know."

Gamzee took it in stride. "Yep, but the Low-bloods hate you more."


Author's Notes:

SO KIDS! Welcome to greasers r us. Not necessarily though xD My only disclaimer on this whole little diddy is, It's based off The Decemberist's "O Valencia!". Good song, best song. It is that song. Go look it up, lest you be baffled by the occurances in this fic xD. So yeah, before my jig gets upped, it doesn't belong to me, The Decemberists are all the g-anus behind this. c:
THANK YOU, REVIEWS ARE MiRaClEs~