There was a strange heaviness attached to Tavros' lower back and stomach when he woke up, and it was several long minutes before he opened his eyes, as they too felt similarly weighed down.
Where was he? He remembered falling asleep on scratchy woolbeast sheets, a warm, declawed hand shifting through his hair.
When he realized from the shape of the ceiling tiles that he was back in the Grand Highblood's medical block a rush of remembered pain and shame overtook him so strongly he almost passed out again. A huge hand pressing against his stomach, the feeling of something rupturing inside and the sound of...of...
He'd tilted his head to the side out of nausea, eyes drifting downward, and then suddenly was staring at nothing. The absence of something that should be there.
His legs.
They were gone.
Tavros opened his mouth to scream but bile came out instead. It dribbled awkwardly onto his bare chest until he managed to wrench his eyes away from the mess of wires and empty space where his legs used to be and aim his spew at the ground beside his cot.
He noticed a strange troll in medicull robes standing nearby, but he found he didn't care who she was. He didn't care about anything. So strong was his horror and disgust that he just kept retching and retching until there was absolutely nothing left.
He collapsed back on his cot, eyes shut tight and hands covering his wet mouth. It's another nightmare, it had to be. But when he opened his eye a crack to check. No. They still. Weren't. There.
He shut his eyes again, tears beginning to leak from their corners (they already felt so tired and sore, he'd cried more in the past few days than he had in all his other sweeps combined). His hands clawed shakily down his chin and fisted together on his chest.
"Am...am I..." He couldn't hardly get the words out. He swallowed more puke and coughed out. "A-are they getting replaced?"
Agrint was moving around the medical room, checking her work. Making sure the tubes were correctly sealed, and that all the fluids were getting in. The quick metal patch she had capped him off with was holding nicely, no leaks, and his organs seemed to not be in distress. It was all going good, in her opinion.
He was stable enough that she did not need to have him strapped down at least, the last of his tremors receding hours ago.
She had been cleaning up some of her tools when the lowblood woke up, and started retching, on himself, and on the ground. It was disgusting, she hated it when her patients puked on themselves. It seemed to be mostly foamy liquid, at the least. No visible blood or chucks. The boy probably hadn't eaten in days.
She approached after he was done, a glass of water in one hand, and a cloth in the other. She handed them to him as he started talking.
"Drink this. The Grand Highblood mentioned that he was going to replace them." She smiled at him. "When is another matter, but, he does not like to leave weakness alone for long. It will most likely happen soon."
Tavros opened his eyes reluctantly and took what Agrint offered him. The water he downed messily, and mostly ended up spilling on himself. He didn't bother cleaning himself up, instead he clutched the cloth to his chest and wrung it between his hands.
It was a while before he spoke next, eyes closed and brow knitted. There were so many questions he both wanted to ask, and feared the answers to.
"Did...did Gamzee see it happen? The uh, op-peration."
A hand holding his... warm, sweet and sour breath whispering that it would never let him go. Was it all a dream? Did this stranger even know who Gamzee was? Who he was? Somehow, Tavros doubted it.
"Gamzee... he's Indigo...not the highblood, a boy who...who looks like him..." His voice was as loud as he could risk speaking without re-triggering his nausea. Which was barely above a whisper.
Agrint calmly took the cup, trying her best not to touch where it had spilled, and refilled it, handing it back. "The Grand Highblood's descendant was here when it happened. I had been treating him for his injuries. Raise your arm." She guided his hand up. He had shifted some of the needles she had slid under his ribs. She would have to adjust them. "Hold still."
Tavros bit back a wince as he raised his arms. So Gamzee had been there. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or not. No, he decided. He wasn't. Who knew what seeing something that brutal had done to him?
"What's going to happen to me, now?" He asked, Eyes drifting like in a dream to where he swore he could see the outline of where his feet had been. The Highblood had said he'd be given new legs if he 'behaved', but what went through that giant clown's twisted thinkpan was anyone's guess. He could just as easily leave Tavros like this, stunted and weak, so it would be impossible for him to escape. More so than it already had been, because now he had his blood loss and nausea to worry about.
She shifted the needle until she was satisfied, then moved down to where she had sealed the plug onto his lower half, examining the still inflamed looking, tender flesh, the sealing burn scars still bright brown.
"I will need to find a better solution than this to hold your organs in, eventually. As for the Grand Highblood, he did say he would find you some legs later. That's the best that you could hope for." She looked up from her examination and tried to smile a little bit. "You should have no worries about that, young Summoner. Like I said, he won't keep something as pathetic looking as you around. He wouldn't be able to resist killing you before long."
She turned her attention back to the seams. "Try not to move too much, you'll rip yourself open."
Tavros gaped at her as she turned away from him. Then quickly shut him mouth and looked away. He tried not to think about the words 'organs' or 'rip yourself open' and repressed a shudder at finally identifying the strange smell in the air as one of burning flesh and fresh blood. There was something else she had said though, something that distracted from the needles and the wires and the fact that so much of him was missing now, physically and otherwise.
"You know my ancestor?"
She didn't look up from her inspection, shifting some more tubes and wires. She would need to replace some of these.
"I've worked for the Grand Highblood for several sweeps. I work on your ancestor often, and take care of him when his master is away, bringing him food and such. It looks like you didn't tear anything, at least. Try to keep it that way. It will be difficult keeping you alive otherwise." she sighed as she straightened, taking off her gloves and tossing them in the waste receptacle.
"Would you like a blanket?"
Tavros didn't reply immediately. He was thinking about his ancestor. How long had Rufio been on this ship? How many times had he been 'worked on'? How many times would Tavros himself have to be 'worked on' once the Highblood was done with him? Even supposing he received his promised legs. It only meant he would last longer, a more durable pet...
But on the other hand. Legs meant he could run. Legs meant open doors and strength and hope.
'Think of the legs' he thought to himself, and took a deep breath. He couldn't let his own thoughts destroy him, not with everything he'd been through...
"Yes, please."
She nodded, turning to a supply cabinet. She stepped in some coppery brown blood. She still hadn't gotten around to picking up the severed remains. She pulled out a scratchy older blanket, and brought it over draping it over him gently. "This should keep you warmer. It's much easier for us warmer bloods to get cold."
He wouldn't be able to survive infections as he was right now. Any more stress on his body could kill him. She needed to get in contact with the Robothetics head of the medical wing as soon as she could. He was busy right now with his batch of new recruits, but the needs of the Highblood came first on this ship, always.
She turned back, eyeing the legs that peeked out from behind the examination table. She should pick them up now, before it really started to smell. It would only upset her charge though. He was doing surprisingly well for just having had his legs removed, not as much thinkpan trauma as she thought. The Grand Highblood knew how to pick out the ones that would last. He had a thing for 'survivors'.
"Close your eyes for a few minutes."
Feeling as though he were on some other plane of reality, Tavros nodded and closed his eyes, he focused on kneading the scratchy blanket in his hands, running the wool over his knuckles and feeling the fibers snag on his claws. It didn't nearly distract him enough to ignore what sounded like a body being dragged. Tavros wasn't stupid, he didn't need to see to know his missing legs had to be somewhere. He didn't want to ask where they were going now.
He desperately wanted to pull the blanket over his head, to hide from the overhead lights and the pain and the stranger who'd cut him in half, but his fever and his shaking hands wouldn't let him. Besides, he wasn't a child anymore. Only children believed hiding under blankets or in piles kept them safe.
She dumped the useless parts into the waste receptacle, and hit a button, immediate emptying it in the ship's incinerator to be dealt with. With that done, there were other things she needed to attend to now.
She turned back noticing her charge was shaking again. She went forwards, giving him a final look over.
"I will be leaving for a few hours. I have other duties that need my immediate attention. Is there anything you require before I go?
He couldn't help it. He laughed. A withering chuckle that started with a sharp inhalation and carried into his words.
"You're, seriously asking me that?" Tavros looked in her eyes, they were fully green and heavy with lines and shadows. His laughter died in his throat.
"...No." He finished lamely. What could he tell her? That he needed his old life back? That he needed his friends and his lusus and a soak in a warm ablution trap? She couldn't do anything for him now, nobody could.
"I'm fine."
He turned his head away from her and waited for her to leave. He wanted to be alone, even if it was for a few measly moments in this horrible room.
She nodded at him, not surprised by the broken chuckle. It meant he was sane at least, which was more than she could say for some of the trolls here. "Try to rest, if you can."
She turned and left the medical block, the door shutting behind her almost soundlessly, locking itself, lest any patients thought to wander off. Now she just needed to locate that pompous blueblood….
~~
Gamzee was marching in front of him, not fighting him, just walking. There was indigo blood dripping on the floor and he was still as bare as the day he had been hatched. Not in a fit state to be going around in public. How do you scare someone bare-assed and bloody with your own motherfucking shade?
His hand settled on his descendant's shoulder, claws digging in slightly to bring him back, he seemed to be drifting. Another thing he would have to beat out of the little whelp. Daydreaming was going to get him killed, and how would that look on him? Might make those would be upstarts a little more uppity.
The room he pushed his descendant into was his own personal block. Not his throne room, no, this was more personal, his place of rest. Oddly, it wasn't covered in massive splashes of colour, like most would have guessed. He loved colour, craved watching the shades bleed into one another, becoming a motherfucking miraculous macabre mural. The paintings breathed life into a room, but they were also distracting. No proper rest to be found there.
He pushed Gamzee towards a doorway at the far end, towards his bathroom.
Gamzee tried to stop at the door frame, but the highblood simply pushed him inside until he tripped over himself and fell in. The cold tile smacked hard against his naked ass.
"Fucking..." Gamzee looked up at The Highblood, who loomed over him, then over his shoulder to the gigantic bathtub which looked big enough to fit about 5 trolls comfortably.
"What? Now you're gonna give me a bath? Sick of your own rank stench on a motherfucker?" He muttered, not bothering to stand back up.
He debated letting his descendant bathe himself as he watched him fall and land in a pile on the ground. He was mostly long limbs and boney corners. He looked like a dirty broken bleeding doll on the floor, staring up at him with his glass eyes, just hinting at colour.
He reached down and grabbed his descendant by the arms and lifted him up, depositing him in the bottom of the tub. His horns barely breached the rim. "I would let you give yourself your own motherfucking bath runt, but I don't think you would even know the facet form the plug."
He reached forwards, turning on the tap and letting the water run hot.
The heat was sudden and shocking and caused Gamzee to hiss as it touched him, but he didn't move away. For the size of the tub, it filled remarkably fast and soon he was waist deep in water with steam enveloping him on all sides, making his skin sweat and hair frizz out. He didn't move for soap or shampoo, of which there were many varieties lining the sides of the great tub, he just watched the highblood, dull hatred pulsing behind his eyelids.
"You gonna get him new legs?" He asked finally.
Kneeling, he watched his descendant being swallowed up by the water, a small, boney ball of rage. Oh, there was so much potential there. He could see purple bleeding out from between his legs, and there was some lingering dirt from Alternia and even a flower in his hair. He looked like a feral wriggler... or one that had a shit lusus.
He snorted, "Not your motherfucking business what I do with my own property." His hand drifted up along the various bottles, all shapes and colours and sizes and smells. He couldn't decide on which one to use, all had an interesting smell, but not what he wanted. His hand drifted over a large fuchsia bottle with a diamond etched onto the glass shell.
It was the one he kept for Ikhthyes, his shark-eyed, urchin-mouthed pale mate, Her Royal Motherfucking Condescension, whenever it pleased her empirical ass to see him. It was her personal favourite. It smelled like old seaweed that was let dry for a few weeks. He smiled as he poured some of the fuchsia liquid onto his palm and went for Gamzee's hair.
Gamzee's fists clenched but he said nothing as the slickness dripped down from his hair into his face and the smell reached him. He sniffed. It smelled like the sea, like rocks on a beach, empty waves, empty promises...
"This stuff smells like shit." He growled, as the Highblood began to knead painfully into his scalp.
His fingers were getting stuck in the mass of hair. Hadn't the kid ever brushed it once before in his life? Shit was disgusting. He used his claws to cut away at the knots. The suds that had appeared in his hair were already a dirty brown colour.
He snorted in amusement at his descendant's comment. "When you can clean yourself, you can choose better smelling shit."
He didn't give a warning as he forced his descendant backwards, horns narrowly missing the edge of the tub and he yanked him back by the hair until the offending part of him was submerged, brown bubbles drifting from him. He let him back up when he thought most of the soap was out.
Gamzee thrashed and coughed, hands pulling at the Highbloods wrist.
"G-get the FUCK off me you MALIGNANT MOTHERFUCKER. I can get at my OWN MOTHERFUCKING SCRUB, ALRIGHT!?" Gamzee screamed, feeling the voodoos bust through the dull black of his mind from the show of the hot water in his eyes and lungs. He managed to push the Highbloods hand off him and started rubbing at what was left of the soap in his hair, rubbing at the suds on his face, he just didn't want the Highblood to touch him again, didn't want him anywhere near him ever again.
It was so fucked up. What kind of messiahs would let at Tavros getting all cut up, while he got to sit there, squeaky clean as a motherfucking whistle. Didn't make a fuck lick of sense.
The Highblood laughed at his little descendant as he batted his hands away and went scrubbing at his own hair and face. He allowed it, settling on the rim of the tub to supervise his charges attempt to clean himself.
"Guess your lusus DID teach you how to clean the gunk from your head." There was still so much dirt on him.
As Gamzee scrubbed, his make-up was getting ruined. White trails flowing down his face, gray coming up more and more. It didn't even look like anything anymore, mostly just a mess. His descendant didn't seem to notice, why not help him along?
The closet was too far away, and his descendant might slip and hurt himself, he wouldn't have put it past the dozy thing. He shuffled through his sylladex, eventually bringing out the shirt the younger Taurus had been wearing. He hadn't even realised he had grabbed it. Granted he had been a bit... preoccupied. He dunked it in the water and grabbed his descendant by the horn and shoved it in his face, wiping off the rest of the make-up, scrubbing harder where it seemed to stick.
Gamzee cried out when he saw Tavros's shirt, and for a second it seemed his body couldn't decide whether it wanted to reach out and grab it, or flinch away. He twitched and snatched the soggy fabric in his fingers when it touched his skin, keeping hold of it even as the Highblood scrubbed viciously at his face.
When the Highblood tried to peel away the shirt from him, Gamzee kept holding on, glaring through his long, dripping bangs.
"I ain't lettin' you take this again. I WANT IT, IT'S MINE."
His eyes widened, he hadn't meant to say that.
"I mean... It's Tavs, right? What you need with an old rag anyway?"
The Grand Highblood grinned at his descendant's demand, he was acting as he should be. Taking charge. Claiming what was his. He seemed to deflate almost immediately after he said it, but it had been clear as anything. As much as the twit might scream to the contrary, he wanted to own the little crippled brownblood, not be his motherfucking equal. Oh yes, there was something here to work with.
He just had to encourage it to come on out.
He let the rag go, chuckling, claws tearing it slightly in places. "Keep it, it's yours since you want it so much. Toys don't need their old symbols, only their owner's." He shrugged a bit, resting a bit more on his heels
He checked over his descendant. His shaggy hair was clean of debris and dripping around his bare face. He didn't look good without a subjugglator's face. Looked bare and hollow and empty. He was mostly clean though, which was good enough.
He reached in, grabbing his descendant by his armpits and lifting him out easily, depositing him on the floor. This time, he did go for a towel, throwing the balled up fabric at his descendant.
Gamzee let his sore body be dropped on the cold tile without any fuss, still clutching Tavros's t-shirt like a lifeline, he was honestly not sure what to do with it now, he hadn't thought his ancestor would let him keep it. A towel hit him in the face and he let it fall into his lap.
Looking at Tavros's shirt made him feel sick, it felt so strange in his hands. And it made him feel so guilty, like he'd ripped it from his bro himself. He ran the pad of one thumb over the worn symbol in the center.
Again, it was a war within himself. He wanted to get it back to Tavros (messiahs willing he'd still be alive when Gamzee saw him next) so he could hide it away, and keep it as something to remind him who he was, even after all the shit he'd been through. He wasn't gonna let this sick fuck make Tavros forget where he came from, that he had a life outside this twisted motherfuckers machinations.
But...
Part of him didn't want to give it back.
Without even thinking about it Gamzee lifted the shirt and held it to his face, breathing in deep. If there had been any trace of Tavros in the cloth it was masked by the scent of blood and dirt and soap and facepaint. Still, it made him feel...something. He captchalogued the shirt and, feeling disgusted with himself and the world, picked up the towel.
The Highblood watched his descendant breathe in the scent of the shirt. He was really fond of his fly's descendant. Maybe he would give it to him, after he got trained up a bit, as a reward. Depending on how long it took to even train him. The kid was sentimental, and seemed to think gutter blood's were on the same level as them.
He was also taking his sweet motherfucking time drying off. He moved forwards, yanking the towel to dry him himself, brisk and harsh, rubbing the fabric harder than was needed. He was more careful around his descendant's horns. He bet the horn beds were still sore from where he hit them earlier.
"You are too motherfucking skinny kid. Going to need to get some weight put on you."
He watched his descendant breathe in the scent of the shirt. He was really fond of his fly's descendant. Maybe he would give it to him, after he trained him up a bit, as a reward. Depending on how long it took to even train him.
He was also taking his sweet motherfucking time drying off. He moved forwards, yanking the towel to dry him himself, brisk and harsh, rubbing the fabric harder than was needed. He was more careful around his descendant's horns. He bet the horn beds were still sore from where he hit them earlier.
"You are too motherfucking skinny kid. Going to need to get some weight put on you."
Gamzee scoffed and scowled as he was yet again manhandled, every touch burned and made him want to bathe all over again.
The Highblood considered his descendant for a second, taking in his height. He would be about the right height to fit in the clothes that were left over from his last descendant. They shouldn't be too bloodstained at any rate.
"C'mon runt. Can't have you running around in just your skin."
He moved back into the main room, then headed to another doorway that led to a small storage unit. It wasn't very deep, but it held some of his more sentimental items. On the tops of the shelves lining the walls were skulls of his other descendants, lined up in order, they would be looking down if he had been any shorter. In the end, they were all about eye-level for him.
It was cramped up there. There would hardly be any room for another skull if this one disappointed him as well. He would have to get the room enlarged, again. He traced a hand over the skulls, enjoying their smooth surface, and the beauty found in bones. His claws clicked on a notch from the most recent one, a failure that did not live up to his ideals, just one of thirty-two that failed to prove they could carry the responsibility of his legacy.
His hand dropped down and he started to go through the smaller containers, trying to find the uniform that had belonged to the last one.
The Grand Highblood had left Gamzee alone in the bathroom, assuming he would follow, and after a moment alone on the cold tile, Gamzee did get up and move to the main room. He wrapped his soggy towel around his waist and peeked into the closet after the Highblood. He only caught a glimpse of what looked like dozens of skulls, all with the tall, swirling horns of the Capricorn, before the Highblood stood up from whatever he had been rummaging through, blocking Gamzee's view.
Gamzee didn't ask, but he was pretty sure he knew who those skulls belonged to. And he found himself less surprised than he should have been.
The Highblood was carrying clothes, Gamzee could smell the dust and age of them. It was a Subjugglator uniform, with it's detailed, whimsical patterns and bright colours, though the overwhelming theme was the rich purple of his blood. When the Highblood shook them out, they looked impressive, beautiful and fearsome. But Gamzee would rather be naked the rest of his life than wear the rags of some other lost shmuck that fell in league with this old fool. He wasn't about fall in step and slip into his part as easy as that, he didn't fancy the idea of his skull being the next in line on that shelf. He began to back away...
The designs on it were dizzying mash of chaotic order. The cloth was rich in his hands, and it was old. Every single one of his descendants had worn this uniform, all of them gladly. If he thought hard, he could almost imagine each of their individual smells that still seemed to linger on the old cloth.
He looked at his descendant, offering the clothes and noticed him backing away. Like he didn't want to wear the regalia that had been motherfucking made for him. The uniform belonged to him now, as the symbol of a proper subjugglator trainee, and his heir.
"I know you aren't all backing away like you wouldn't want to wear these miraculous threads, oh descendant of mine. Get over here."
He bared his teeth with a tight smile.
"These will be covering you one way or another, descendant." He took a threatening step forwards. The door was locked, Gamzee would have no place to go, and it would be easy to catch him. His grin took a wicked turn.
"Or do you want me to put them on you?"
Gamzee stopped in his backtracking, still staring at the uniform.
"...Okay." He said after a long pause. "I'll put it on... if you tell me why you killed the last motherfucker who wore these threads." His chuckle-voodoos twitched for a second at the look in his ancestors eyes.
He smiled at his descendant and threw the clothes at him. His Gamzee was so much different than the others that had shared their blood. Demanded things where the others had grovelled, looked him in the eye and challenged him on everything. It was a nice change.
"Okay runt, you got your wish. The last motherfucker that wore that died because he was not worthy of taking my title. He was weak and small, smaller than even you, which is a miracle in and of itself." He chuckled a bit at that.
"He just did not have the motherfucking drive nor the talent to take on my responsibilities." He stared hard at his descendant, smile fading into a stern line.
"Don't be disappointing me like that one did."
Gamzee felt like screaming as he held out his uniform at arms length, pretending to look it over. Really he was just trying to keep from tearing it into tiny pieces and vaulting at the Highblood again. Gamzee had seen sick before, seen it in movies and in nightmares and in the razor thin lines of his mind when he looked a little too hard. But the troll he now had to call his ancestor, his mentor, he made madness and cruelty an art form. It was difficult to acknowledge that some part of him, deep down in those secret, hidden places, liked that.
Too bad the rest of him screamed nothing but hate for the motherfucker.
He avoided the Highblood's eye as his let his towel fall and began to pull on the uniform. It was a one piece jumpsuit, but segmented his features with it's linear design, making him appear even taller and sharper than he already was. Once he had zipped it up he fiddled with the shiny buttons bearing his symbol on the cuffs. He felt like he'd slipped all into somebody else's skin. He could swear the thing still felt warm, even though the brother who'd worn it had been dead for who knew how long. He looked up.
"So, it's gonna be all official now, my wicked ass being all formally fallin' in line behind yours? We playing house, motherfucker?" He sucked at one of his teeth before asking, venomously. "You got a name besides Highblood? Or should I just call you Daddy?"
He looked over his descendant as he put on the outfit. It fit him almost like a glove. It brought out more depth to him, making him look taller, bigger, more dangerous. It was a bit big on him, but he would grow into it, eventually.
He growled a bit at his descendant's words. "Do I look like some kind of mammalian beast to you?" He snorted, but moved closer to his descendant, tugging on the clothing, making the barely seen elbow pads sit on his actual elbows, getting the seams straight.
"In front of others, you call me Grand Highblood or Sir. In private, and ONLY in private…" He paused, debating, and started sliding his fingers through his descendant's hair, pulling apart some knots.
"You may call me Amalthea."
Gamzee was immediately sorry he'd asked, he hadn't expected the Highblood to give him his real name, and as soon as he'd heard it... it send a shiver through him. He couldn't say why. Maybe it was just the claws scraping against his scalp. He shut his eyes and took a breath.
"Amalthea. Okay, what the fuck happens now?"
He let out a slight rumble when his descendant say his name. It'd been a while since his name had been uttered by indigo lips. He grinned down, finishing getting his hair somewhat under control. It was as much of a mess as his own, but he liked that on this one. It would stay this way.
His hands drifted down to the other's shoulders, gripping them slightly, feeling the minute changes in the other's body.
"Now? We will get your face put on right, and we'll be getting your motherfucking picture taken, my descendent. Then you will be all motherfucking 'official'"
He squeezed the shoulders, enjoying the feeling of bones shifting underneath.
"Then you will start your motherfucking training."
