Gamzee Makara strolls along the shoreline with a slight spring in his step. He is fully aware of the fact that he is not technically wanted nor welcome in this particular area, but he wouldn't have bruises and injuries spread out over various parts of his body right now if he really fucking cared where he was wanted or welcome. It's not like there's anyone who should be out searching for him or wondering where he is, and he's not afraid of getting caught or punished. He's not afraid of those self-absorbed seadwellers or any of those highblooded motherfuckers. What's to be scared of? They're like dogs being led on leashes. He prefers his lifestyle of doing whatever he wants whenever he wants and taking punishment as it comes, unflinching. It's not like he's got a long lifeline, anyway. As he sees it, he could die within the next hour and he would have leached a million times more enjoyment out of his short lifetime than any of the condenses lapdogs get out of their seemingly endless ones. He's not willing to sit in his hive wallowing in fear and self-pity, because if he's going to live like that he might as well be motherfucking dead.
Tavros picks up on footsteps approaching through the sand long before the rebellious bronze-blood saunters close enough to have been noticed visually by someone who wasn't looking out for him, which Tavros wasn't. He turns in the direction the other troll is approaching from, and with a concerted effort he is able to make him out. As he draws closer, eventually noticing the highblood watching him but making no move to slow down or change directions, opting instead to stare directly back into his onlookers eyes, Tavros observes that he is wearing simple black pants and a well-worn brown sweater, proudly displaying his blood caste. It is a somewhat interesting choice, although it doesn't tell him anything he cannot already tell based on the healing gashes across the backs of the trolls hands, the obviously more recently busted lip, the bruising on his throat, or the flush spreading across his face from the cool air. Tavros continues to gaze at the other male without speaking, growing increasingly flustered as the distance between them closes. He is unaccustomed to having to deal with anyone one-on-one, let alone a lowblood, approaching him so nonchalantly in his own territory without even an invitation.
A slight chill passes through Gamzee as he draws within fifty feet of the highblood, never allowing his gaze to leave the other troll. He has never been stared at for so long by anyone with such a high blood status without punishment, and for perhaps the first time in his life, he feels a bit motherfucking unnerved by one of them. The purple-blood is wearing a deep-purple cloak in order to protect him from the chill in the air and also, Gamzee can only assume with a wave of disgust, to show off the supposedly superior blood that he did nothing to earn and now hides behind and uses to justify and even glorify his mistreatment of those "beneath" him. Upon further inspection he comes to the conclusion that judging by his facial features and general size, this troll must be rather young, younger even than his own nine sweeps. Somewhere between seven and a half and eight, perhaps. It doesn't matter, he supposes. Trolls of this ones ilk are trained practically from infancy to be blood-thirsty killers. However, there is something in this particular highbloods eyes that Gamzee has never detected in another. His gaze is strangely and blatantly devoid of malice and intimidation, and if Gamzee's own eyes do not deceive him, he could be better described presently as tremulous and guarded. There is also an unmistakable and unprecedented kindness shining out of those eyes.
"O-oh, hello th-there!" Tavros stammers belatedly as the stranger suddenly stops about ten feet from where he is sitting, his voice coming out too soft and rushed. Gamzee raises his eyebrows skeptically without answering as the shorter troll pushes himself to a standing position in an attempt to appear less vulnerable and shaken. He bites his bottom lip for a mere moment before he catches himself, takes a deep breath, and forces himself to continue once he feels relatively calmer. "My name is Tavros. This is, uh, technically my territory, but I don't really mind you passing through!" He glances down at the knife strapped at the lowbloods waist, where his hand is now resting defensively, then back into his chocolate-brown eyes which do not reveal a threat. "I'm not going to, uh, fight you or anything, alright? You can just carry on. I was about to go inside, anyway." For his part, Gamzee has never encountered anyone above his own caste who reacted to him with anything even slightly resembling fear, has certainly never experienced it coming from a purple-blood. This kid has clearly only made it this far thanks to everyone else instinctively giving him a wide berth without getting physically close enough to determine whether or not it was warranted. Gamzee doesn't suppose he'll make it a single sweep once he's out in the real world; even highbloods can get culled in an instant if they display the kind of weakness this one is currently displaying.
"Hey," he sighs. "The name's Gamzee, and I wasn't planning on fucking assaulting you. Don't look so scared, it doesn't suit one of your high motherfucking status." Tavros looks startled all over again at his response, having never been talked to like this. "I'm n-not afraid of being assaulted b-by need to keep w-walking, okay? I wasn't expecting you t-to talk to me like this w-when I tried to make you f-feel welcome here. It was a g-gesture of friendliness, n-not fear." Gamzee grins; the highblood's stutter is getting worse as his irritation grows, and he finds the opportunity to turn the tables and make a highblood uncomfortable for once irresistible. He shrugs, never ceasing his grin, and plops unceremoniously down onto the blanket the highblood so recently vacated, resting his head on his hands and keeping his legs bent at the knees. Tavros crosses his arms and stares down at him, chewing on his lower lip and failing this time to catch himself showing his nervousness so openly. After a few minutes of silence that feels awkward from his perspective, but during which Gamzee just maintains a serene and intentionally taunting smile, eyes closed, Tavros carefully sits back down on the blanket as well, as far from the instigating lowblood as he possibly can without sitting directly in the sand.
Gamzee's eyes pop open when he feels the highblood step onto the blanket, his body silently preparing for a strife, but he is quickly rolling them as Tavros simply sits near him, making his fear apparent through the distance he carefully maintains. "What, not gonna make me motherfucking pay for disrespecting you, like any self-respecting highblooded motherfucker would? Guess I shouldn't be surprised at this point. Pathetic. Come on, brother, I'm motherfucking weakened already. You can take me." He turns to Tavros, who is currently staring into his own lap, his cheeks flushed a bright purple, the same purple staining his bottom lip which he has managed to bite open due to his distressed state. "I t-told you, I'm not g-going to f-fight you. Please drop it, o-okay?" He has obviously given up on even the slightest veil of faux toughness. Gamzee feels a sudden surge of frustration. No highblood has the right to give anyone a look that motherfucking pitiful and... adorable. His amusement at this situation is fading rapidly, replaced gradually by a reckless irritation. This is one way he will certainly not allow highblood scum to toy with him. The other troll could not possibly legitimately be this pathetic, could he?
Gamzee suddenly springs on top of Tavros, his jagged knife at the highblood's throat. He shoves the other troll's shoulder against the ground repeatedly. "Stop acting so fucking pathetic! Fucking stop it! Right! Motherfucking! Now!" Tavros struggles against Gamzee's hold, but his heart isn't in it and he actually has zero combat experience, having thus far put no effort into developing his potential superior strength. He stops fighting after a short burst of effort, closing his eyes tightly when he feels the sting of rising tears. "Please just st-stop it! I don't w-want to fight you, a-and I w-won't!" Gamzee lets go of the highblood's shoulder but pushes the knife against his throat more firmly, beginning to draw rivulets of purple blood. He is glaring down at Tavros in complete frustration when the smaller troll reopens his eyes, purple-tinted tears rushing down his cheeks and ultimately mixing with the small amount of blood gathering at his collarbones. His eyes meet Gamzee's, only half filled-in with his blood color. Gamzee meets his gaze for only a moment before pulling away, releasing a shout of potent rage and throwing his knife as hard as he can into the ocean. "You were supposed to stop me, not just pass your life over on a motherfucking silver platter! Did you not care that I had your life in the palm of my hand? I'm fucking nothing, I'm the last troll on Alternia that you should fucking cower in front of. You know what, whatever. You'd better go hide in your little hive and be prepared for your eminent culling the very day you finally slink out, motherfucker."
He turns away angrily, arms crossed, taking deep breaths in an effort to calm himself. Tavros sits up and faces him hesitantly after a moment. "I..." he stops, gathering his few remaining shreds of courage. "I'm sorry-" Gamzee turns on him, resentment shining in his eyes. "Don't fucking apologize, that's even worse! You are seriously the worst excuse for a troll, let alone a motherfucking highblood, I have ever fucking encountered. Just shut up!" "I don't understand why you're so angry at me!" Tavros snaps, the nervous tremor leaving his voice for the first time since he entered Gamzee's presence. "I've tried to be nice to you, and I don't understand what your problem with me is! You're mad that I'm not who you expected me to be? You don't know me well enough to form expectations! I have enough going on right now without you coming here to verbally and physically attack me and treat me like worthless trash because I don't live up to your MOTHERFUCKING expectations! Just go away!" The emotion drains from Gamzee's face as Tavros yells at him, but Tavros has thrown himself face-first onto the blanket and is sobbing before he can respond. He remains in the same spot for almost half an hour, motionless. By the time he has made up his mind as to what actions he will take next, Tavros is curled up on his side facing away from Gamzee, gasping and hiccuping as his body tries to produce more tears when he has run out of them.
Gamzee stands up a bit shakily then leans down and picks Tavros up before he can stop him, adjusts the highblood, who is fighting against him weakly and muttering refusals, carefully in his arms, and walks toward Tavros's hive. Once he's inside, it takes him almost no time to find the younger troll's ablution trap, which he gently sits Tavros on the edge of. He turns on the warm water and locates a sponge, then uses it to carefully clean the shallow gash at his throat. Tavros is silent now, simply staring blankly at the floor. Gamzee spends a lot longer cleaning the cut than is technically necessary, not looking forward to the apology he knows he owes Tavros, the first apology he will ever offer anyone, and trying to formulate it as perfectly as possible before his delivery. Eventually, he forces himself to acknowledge the fact that it's way past time to get the unpleasantness over with and he's never going to be ready. "I'm sorry, Tavros," he begins, meeting Tavros's gaze only through the most powerful determination he is capable of mustering. "I was just totally fucking wrong, okay? I don't have a great fucking history with trolls of your blood caste, and I projected my feelings for them onto you, and that was just un-motherfucking-fair to you. I really am sorry." He pauses to study the effect his words are having on Tavros then continues, somewhat reassured by the return of some semblance of Tavros's kind expression from earlier.
"I don't fucking talk to people, you know? I've never liked a single motherfucker enough to even consider bothering with that. So I don't actually have any experience dealing with anyone on any kind of fucking personal level. I hate fucking highbloods and everything they represent, and I've never met one of those motherfuckers capable of exceeding the low expectations I've set for them. I could sense something different in you right away, something warm and delicate..." he pauses here, his cheeks flushed bronze, finally losing the nerve to continue holding eye contact. "I didn't want to motherfucking believe in what I was seeing in you, detecting in your eyes and your voice and your fucking body language. I wanted you to prove me wrong because... because I was too big of a motherfucking coward to admit even to myself that deep down, more than anything, I wanted to be reading you right." Tavros continues to listen without interrupting, carefully studying Gamzee's face as he apologizes, his own cheeks growing a deeper purple by the minute. "I had just never fucking felt that before, even just the urge to have a wisp of faith in some motherfucker other than my motherfucking self." He meets Tavros's gaze now. "I don't even know how you inspired that feeling in me, you really didn't say any-fucking-thing. It was like something inside you reached out and touched something inside me, something I never even knew was motherfucking in there. Anyway, I'm sorry for being an unbelievable fucking asshole, and I'm sorry I suck so bad at apologizing. Just let me get you to your motherfucking recuperacoon, because I owe you at least that much, and then I'll get the fuck out of here and make sure you never have to see me again."
Their eyes meet again and Tavros licks his lips before hesitantly speaking. "What if I want to see you again?"