Tavros followed Gamzee into the forest as he carried the mutant's body down the slope. The highblood told him he wanted to lay Karkat down to rest by the river where they first met. He also commented that he hated that it was no longer winter, softly adding in that he hoped the cold would shock his former matesprit back to life. It was not unbearably hot outside, but the warmth permeating from the Spring breeze would only allow the corpse's decay. If not for the respect he had for the mutant he would have preserved his body as a trophy. Karkat deserved the traditional rites to death; which had grown from the compulsion to gain fear by leaving corpses about a territory, to the lack of care to the dead body. Doing anything unnatural to a corpse was considered a taboo, fetishistic even, if not done for the advance of science.

"Tav," Gamzee spoke softly as he set Karkat's body down by the river, "Can you all up and pray with me?"

"Pray?" Tavros asked.

"Yeh," Gamzee spotted the place next to him as he knelt besides the corpse, "Just…Just get over here,"

Tavros nodded, kneeling besides him and closing his eyes. He tried to copy Gamzee's position, but it felt too phony to him. He could not muster the same stir of emotions that was fueling the highblood's actions. In actuality, Tavros did not know much about Karkat. They did not have a concrete past filled with depth and empathy. Indeed they were acquainted and had grown close over their time together in the castle, but he did not have a profound understanding of his being that Gamzee had. He did not simply know Karkat, he experienced Karkat. He felt his pain no matter what the cause was, he knew his motives and his actions. He knew the mutant as if he pulsed through his very own veins; maybe he did. Gamzee had taken a vile of blood from the mutant's veins, before it thickened considerably. He wanted to keep him close by means of what brought them together; blood.

As Gamzee muttered his holy mantra Tavros considered his possibilities. What could he do for Gamzee to bring him some solace? He claimed he would return in a few weeks to claim the shackles that bound his wrists, but in regret. He wanted to try and make it up to Karkat; he must have convinced himself over and over again that he and the mutant would come to an understanding after each scourge. He was convinced he'd be given a second chance, but this was the final bit of rivalry and Gamzee had lost. Claiming the cold iron of the still glowing shackles in order to redeem himself. Taking in such a symbol for reasons of repentance were sacrilegious to the creed of a highblood. This was a symbol of humiliation, of Karkat's mutant status and ancestry; then again, having slept with him several times, humiliation was not a risk for the indigoblood. The idea of claiming a tool of torture as the last remnant of his beloved did not seem appropriate though.

Tavros continued to ponder this as he and Gamzee made way toward the castle. He had something in mind; it would take precaution and patience though. If done right, it could be done in a day.


Gamzee did not recluse himself in his Respite Block, nor did he shirk his duties the next evening. He wanted to be distracted from his loss. He would preoccupy himself with his captains and generals, idly working out strategies as they moved into the Sea-dwellingKingdom now that the Condesce was dead. He was currently awaiting word from his right-hand troll, Zahhak, about the whereabouts of the Heiress. At this point he did not care about dispatching her moirail, he only wanted her. He would spare Eridan out of Karkat's memory, and he felt the urge to understand the aquatic troll's feelings for his former matesprit. He wanted to be close to the troll who had brought Karkat such happiness; he did not want to burden him with the guilt and pain of his untimely demise. It was not the sea-dweller's fault after all. Maybe a compromise could be reached; he was slowly growing weary of this war and his legacy.

The very same day, Tavros was looking for the vile of Karkat's blood. He had no idea where the highblood had hidden it. Blood could easily be preserved without the need of cooling it, since it was so entangled in their way of life. He would need a few drops for the project he was working on. His fingers were burnt and stung from his advance on the project and at the moment the head of it was going down. He had the paste mix ready, all he needed was the bright red plasma. The vile was not in Gamzee's tonic cabinet, or his closet, not the thermal hull. The only real place left to check was under the bed. He didn't know, but he felt a tad apprehensive about it. Taking a deep breath, he knelt down and pushed the sheets up so he could look under the sleeping apparatus with ease. He felt around and smiled a bit when he felt his fingers craze an object that was not part of the mattress frame.

He took a hold of it and pulled it out; it was a box. It was not locked, so that was good. He opened it, removing the clothe that covered several objects. There it was! The vile was laid on top of an aged journal. Tavros smiled and picked it up, cradling it carefully, before his attention was grabbed by the journal. He didn't like the idea of invading Gamzee's privacy, but it was just him and the highblood now. He had to figure Gamzee out in order to help him. He was so distraught over Karkat's death; he had to find out what solaced the Grand Highblood. He looked around the room before sitting back onto the floor, opening the journal in his lap. He scrunched his face in curiosity at the first page; it was signed not by Gamzee, but by some troll named Kurloz Makara. Oh dear, this wasn't Gamzee's journal, it was his ancestor's. At least, he assumed. No one knew the real name of the original Grand Highblood, maybe this was Gamzee's name and he had it changed? It wasn't uncommon; trolls would often take up an eight-letter title once they reached adulthood. He couldn't be sure, he had to read though. He needed to understand the inner-workings of the indigoblood's mind.

I do not MOTHERFUCKIN' UNDERSTAND what has come over me. Since the execution of the Signless, I have begun to FEEL SO MOTHERFUCKIN' VULNERABLE. The bright hue burns into the stained glass that decorates my castle, a GRIM REMINDER OF MY DEVOTION AND IT MOTHERFUCKIN' HAUNTS ME. The voices in my head can only be sated by the sight…of HER. The motherfuckin' Condesce, Meenah…The image of her on my throne, such obscener thoughts are possessing my days. I ache within, so MOTHERFUCKIN' VULNERABLE…

My MOTHERFUCKIN' descendent is taking on well to the SUBJUGGLATOR LIFESTYLE. ORIGINALLY, I was motherfuckin' disappointed at what I heard of him. Seeing his prowess has ASSURED THE MOTHERFUCKIN' CONDESCE, she will be well-served when I MOTHERFUCKIN' DIE.

Tavros became engrossed a she continued to read. Each entry was short and to the point, but still quite fascinating despite the lack of detail. As he delved deeper into the tome, more and more entries referenced the Condesce; almost all of them referred to her romantically. It seemed history had been accurate when describing his heart, it had been broken.

After many faithful sweeps of service, I decided to tell the Condesce my feels. As I bowed at her feet the Martial Emperor, Orphaner Dualscar, was at her MOTHERFUCKIN' SIDE. He kissed her; I assume their kismesistitude has taken on a rather eerie playing ground. He shortly left after. I then approached her, in all her beauty, with my affections. But then, in haste, she denied my affections. I left with equal haste, agonized by her rejection and my affection.

Tavros frowned, oh, how awful. He would empathize. He had been red for Aradia for a long time, he wasn't rejected. He just wasn't right for her, she had her eyes set on someone else.

Today in the battlefield, I MOTHERFUCKIN HOISTED MYSELF ATOP THE MOTHERFUCKIN' BORDER WALL. The Condesce stood there, some ways across. The look on her face was icy cold. She raised what appeared to be a bow, AN ARROW (fashioned in that of her trident's image) struck my vascular pump. I have no long to live, for I am dying of a broken MOTHERFUCKIN' HEART.

dAdDy BlOoD iS dEaD. aLl He MoThErFucKiN' WaNtEd WaS hEr AfFeCtIoN…aFtEr AlL tHe SwEeP Of SeRvIcE sHe KiLlEd HiM. i'Ll MoThErFuCkIn' AvEnGe HiM, aS tHe NeW mOtHeRfUcKiN' gRAnD HiGhBlOoD. wE wILl TeAr DoWn ThE sEa-DwElLiNg KiNgDoM aNd WiPe OuT tHeIr GrImE. tHeY'vE uSeD uS lOnG eNoUgH.

The next few pages were rather blank, save for a few spots of colorful ink here and there. Some of the pages were also tattered and torn, but still left in tact to the spine of the journal. After several dozen pages he found a new entry.

I dOn'T mOtHeRfUcKiN' kNoW wHaT's WrOnG wItH mE. EVeRy TiMe I lOoK aT HiM nOw My MoThErFuCkIn' VaScUlAr PuMp GeTs tIgHt, AnD mY fAcIaL pAdS gEt AlL sWeAtY. i FeEl LiKe DaDdY bLoOd DiD i GuEsS.

Tavros sighed somewhat as he kept on reading, not from boredom but from the duality in each entry. How did Karkat appease this troll? He shut the book and placed it back in the box, he was starting to feel somewhat guilty after wandering the written feels that Gamzee had for his former matesprit. He wondered though why Gamzee had not documented anything from his past. He also wondered how long it had taken Karkat to learn about the troll's past. Only time would tell.