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The church was alive with activity, bodies pressed around each other in celebration. Whoops polluted the air along with bursts of laughter as those of the circus celebrated.

High above, on tight rope and trapeze, great feats were preformed. Tight rope walking while juggling, tossing someone from hand to hand after each swing. Occasionally the person in question missed the next bar and fell, sometimes the crowd caught them and threw them back upwards, to the performing stage, other time they'd let them crash. It was a breathtaking sight. All the faces that the cultists wore had large, joyful smiles, as it motherfucking should be, on this joyous day.

The Higher ups of the church, some Bishops and Cardinals, the heads separate sects within, were sitting in their respective booths above ground level, sowing harsh merriment in their private boxes. He could see The Marcel from here, mouth closed but eyes alive and body moving, with his sect of silent, black and white Marceauldiers. It was the quietest booth in the place, but one didn't need a voice to show merriment.

Amalthea had abandoned his seat of honour, a large throne that was placed high above everyone in a solitary booth, in favour of wading through the raucous crowd. They gave him a bit of a wide berth, moving out of his way as he walked, calling out whoops to him and other signs of respect.

Jewellery dangled from his horns, catching what little light there was in their indigo gems. His outfit was a cacophony of purple patches and ribbons. There was no cape, this time around, but strips of detailed, stitched fabric was everywhere, each tip dyed a separate blood colour. They fluttered around him as he moved through the crowd.

Their energy was singing under his ancient skin, getting just as high from it as the crowd had from his words moments before. He loved celebrations, especially the day of Gathering. The day honouring the promised land that did not yet exist, and their mirthful messiahs. It was a day of new beginnings and destiny. A perfect time to put his plan into motion, now that he had all his pieces, after perigrees of preparation.

He looked over the crowd, easily towering over even older priests who were still no where near close to his own age, for Gamzee.

He should have been easy to spot. He was taller than any of the other trainees, the would be subjugglators who hadn't quite made a name for themselves yet, or decided what sect of the church to follow. In rank, Gamzee was on par with several of the older members, but he generally stayed near the other trainees, towards the back. Everything was a mess however, the lines had blurred and the masses mingled in their merriment.

He wasn't at the back with the other trainees, so he brought his gaze around, back towards the stage, finally spotting him across the room. His back turned from him, looking towards the ring. He smiled and made his way through the sea of painted faces, laying one heavy hand on his shoulder, gripping slightly with his claws.

"There you are, Gamzee."

Gamzee looked away from a the flickering light of a flame glutton performing his ceremonial rites, and over his shoulder. The Highblood was a mess of colour on black and indigo so bright he glowed, like a vision. His yellowing fangs seemed to stand out in the dark, a regular Cheshire purr-beast. Gamzee knew that expression, it never meant anything but bad news for him.

Since his meeting with Tavros a week before, Gamzee had been spending every spare minute scouring his brain for the making of a plan, any plan, to free Tavros like he'd promised. Trouble was, there had been no spare moments. Today's festivities had been the first time all week where he had been able to sneak away from his ancestor, only to find himself walled in on every side with revelry and anarchy of a most distracting nature.

His eyes were heavy, he only got a few hours of sleep every day, the rest of it he spent sitting up in the slime, talking to the walls, listening to the voices in his think pan for any trace of genius. He wasn't allowed a husktop, he didn't know anything about what was going on in the rest of Alternian Space. As far as he knew his whole universe began and ended with this ship, with Amalthea and the thousands of clowns who either loathed or ignored him. There was no help to be found from anyone here, he was completely on his own.

He resisted the urge to shrug the giant hand off of him, instead he pulled at the itching collar of his colourful festival garb and tried to look alert, or at least conscious.

"You need me for something, Sir?" He asked, his voice somewhat masked by surrounding screams of death and the resulting laughter.

His grin only broadened and he gave Gamzee's shoulder a gentle squeeze before releasing. He actually put his ceremonial garb on correctly, all by his motherfucking self. Almost like a functioning troll.

"I noticed you have been doing well in your training, lately. I decided to get you a gift." His eyes shined cruelly.

Gamzee felt something rise in his throat at the word, "gift". He swallowed it down and shook his head.

"If it's all the same to you, I'm good. I'm all motherfuckin' contented as shit with the shit I got, Sir." The words felt dumb and thick with fakery coming out of him, but he didn't want anything the Grand Highblood had to offer him, that was a motherfucking certainty.

"NONSENSE. I picked them out just for you." The hand returned, a hard clamp on Gamzee's shoulder which he used to steer him towards the doorway.

"Don't be so ungrateful. I'm not so generous everyday." he grinned, moving towards the door, his claws digging in as a warning.

Gamzee let himself be pushed, while the word "them" seemed to follow him like a smoke trail. What was it this time then? Another test of his murderchops? Another chance to see if he could cull like a proper wicked little clown, smite the dull and unrighteous with holy fury? Hadn't he proved himself enough?

Gamzee didn't think he'd ever forget his first kill. A redblood, pale and begging at his feet. He'd been in detox then. It had been his first full week off sopor, not even a drop for sleeping in, and the clubs had been wet with her shade before he realized he was even holding them. He had laughed then, and later, when he was alone, wrung his bones and wept until he laughed some more, until his face was blotched dark like a crushed berry.

Since then there had been so much death, every day another stain on a club, bright as the first. Sometimes he even looked forward to it. He'd never told Tavros about that...

He stayed quiet as he walked, held tight by Amalthea's side, down long, dark hallways.

He led him down the twists and turns of his ship. There were few trolls in the halls, the majority either at the church celebrating, or hiding in their blocks or workplaces like smart little motherfuckers not wanting to get down with the harsh merriment. Those they did pass bowed their head, and moved along quickly.

He took them deep, towards the back of the ship, where the cargo bay was held. His strides were urgent, but Gamzee had no trouble keeping up with him, for once.

He stopped at a door, the last one in a dead end hall. It was large and unmarked, metal gleaming in the fluorescent lights.

"Here we are." He smiled, letting go of Gamzee's shoulder to slip out a key card from his robes. The doors opened with little more than a hiss.

Inside sat ten trolls who blinked at the sudden bright light, raising their chained hands to block it out. The chains connecting their hands to their collars clinking loudly.

They were all brown blooded, within a shade of his Fly's colour and with a similar build to the younger Taurus. Their horns were all similar as well, though never quite the right shape, or size, or location. They were the best matches he could find in the newest batch of lowbloods from the Rainbow Fields. They should have been culled, or conscripted as canon fodder, instead they would serve a different purpose.

If you squinted, every one of them could be mistaken for Tavros, though in the Grand Highblood's eyes, they still had something lacking.

"Stand."

The trolls struggled to their feet, wobbly from the shackles they were wearing and exhaustion. The ones whose eyes adjusted quickly warily regarded them, two were visibly shaking. The air reeked of fear. He moved out of the way of Gamzee, smiling down at him as he gestured him inside.

Gamzee held his breath as he followed the Highblood inside. When the door opened he felt a wave of genuine terror that could only mean lowbloods, lots of them. The door shut behind him and a sickly light switched on above. It was still dark, but it was enough to see them. The brownbloods.

The Highblood urged him forward but he couldn't move. His eyes darted from brownblood to brownblood, looking for Tavros, but thankfully, he wasn't among the doppelgangers. Apparently he wasn't a part of whatever Amalthea had planned. Once Gamzee realized this, he couldn't help but start noticing the differences in the trolls, the little things which made them different from his Tavros. This one's hair was too short, this one's nose too thin... but the most noticeable difference in all of them was that they were fresh meat, unscarred and young, looking for all the world like Tavros had, before...

The sound of satisfied laughter shocked him from his stare and he glanced up sideways at his Ancestor. Was he going to make Gamzee slaughter these trolls? Molest them? Torture them? The Highblood wasn't above anything, not if he thought it would prove a point.

"Sir?" He asked with more chill than he felt. "What the fuck is this noise?"

He grinned down at his descendant.

"Why, a gift, for you." He moved closer to the brownbloods, circled them.

"I was your age, when I caught my first slave. A rust-blooded thing with curling horns and a spitfire temper. She was remarkably useful, while she lasted." She had fought like a demon possessed, and had been so satisfying to break.

His hands drifted to one of the slaves' heads, playing with it's long hair, letting it fall through his claws.

"I would let you go catch your own, but I didn't think you'd be able. So, I caught some for you. Seeing that you have a fondness for my 'Tavros', I went ahead and found some that look like him. It wasn't even hard, Alternia is crawling with common filth."

He let his claws trail on its cheek, delighting in its shivers. It didn't dare move a muscle, but its wide eyes were staring at his hand. He didn't leave a mark as he retracted his claw. Laughing, he moved behind them, spreading out his arms.

The trolls between them didn't know who to face and shifted nervously, eyes flitting to both of them. They were all shaking now.

"All you need to do, is pick one."

Gamzee swallowed tightly.

"Pick one?"

He didn't want a slave, felt sick at the thought. Felt more sick at that then at the thought of killing, at least death was fast. Life was worse, life meant hurt and more hurt until the hurt was all you were, Gamzee didn't have any illusions about that.

"What happens to the ones what don't get picked?" He asked, already knowing the answer.

He looked down at them and smiled, eyes half shut, leering.

"I'll find a use for them."

He let his claws run along another one's shoulders, who flinched at the sudden contact but didn't dare move away. Another squeaked in fear. Some turned their eyes to Gamzee, perhaps trying to decide which fate would be worse.

"The time-piece is ticking away my descendant."

Now it seemed Gamzee couldn't look at a face without seeing the similarities to his best friend. This one had Tavros's crooked fangs, another his doleful eyes, one stood like maybe there was something wrong with his legs. Everywhere he looked there Tavros was. Or at least, a troll just like him. No...no, not just like him, but, still...

His head pounded behind his bloodshot eyes. He tried to make eye contact but nobody was looking at him, if they did it was fleetingly at his symbol, his horns, his garish, noble garb. For all they knew he was just another Indigo. For all Gamzee knew maybe one of them liked fairy tales, or played card games.

Maybe one of them had a stutter.

"Can I talk at them, some? Get a feel for a motherfucker?" He asked with forced confidence. He'd play the dominant highblood, if that's what Amalthea wanted. But Messiahs, he was in over his motherfucking head with this shit.

The Grand Highblood regarded his descendent over the other's heads, waiting long enough for Gamzee to shift on his feet.

"Fine." His grin was back and he backed up slowly until he leaned against the wall behind him.

One of the trolls, the one who was puffing out his chest, kept looking towards the door, then back to Gamzee, as if trying to weigh his options. Gamzee approached him first, slow. His eyes were still on Amalthea, who wasn't leaving. Gamzee took a breath, he had to be careful, if he showed even the slightest bit of pity to anybody he'd miss his chance to...his chance to what? To save someone worth saving for once, maybe? He didn't know, but he couldn't just pick. Not like that.

The troll with the puffed out chest looked bigger than Tavros. But his jaw was square like Tav's and his hair looked soft...

Gamzee was at a loss...what should he do now? What could he ask without raising warning signs? He'd have to play a game, The Highblood loved games. Fucker liked to play with his food.

"Answer me this, brown brother..." He began, tilting his head and lowering his voice. "If you could have any mutation ability, what would you up and choose?"

The brownblood started, the question had caught him off guard. His eyes snapped up at Gamzee and his brows furrowed.

"…Blood shifting." He seemed to brace himself for a hit, but when it didn't come, tried to stand up straighter. From the wall the Grand Highblood gave a bark of laughter.

Gamzee held eye contact with the brown blood for a moment, then looked away.

"Yeah." He muttered. "Good one..." It wasn't the answer he'd wanted.

He moved on to the next brown-blood, smaller and slighter than the last.

"How about you, motherfucker?"

The slight troll locked his lips, eyes shifting from the one that had obviously failed the question. He didn't look Gamzee in the eyes, but settled on his chest. He licked his lips.

"...Invisibility." His voice cracked and Gamzee almost swore, he sounded so small.

But it still wasn't the answer he wanted.

He moved on, dread threatening to drown out his hope.

"You?" He asked the next troll. This one had a sneer on his face. His wrists were a bit more raw around them from his struggling with his cuffs. His thumb lay oddly.

"None of your business." His voice was scratchy and he bared his uneven fangs.

Behind, there was a dark chuckle and Amalthea shot a challenging look over the brown blood's head. Its message was clear. You aren't't going to motherfucking take that, are you?

Gamzee was losing this game. He wasn't going to find Tavros here, because Tavros wasn't here, he was already enslaved, already in a cold cell. Already broken and bitter in ways this troll wasn't, would never be, if he had any motherfucking luck at all.

LIARS, ALL OF THEM

wearing faces they ain't got no right to

WEARING FACES THEY AINT GOT THE RIGHT TO MOTHERFUCKING BEAR

The voices came on unbidden and he shook his head to be rid of them.

"Today's your lucky day, brother." Gamzee said softly. Calling up his clubs, in the time it took for eyes to flash yellow and his sigh to break, he had saved one troll. Two hard hits to the skull was all it took. Blood warmed his hands as the body of the snide troll fell to the ground. He pointed his club at the next troll without even looking up.

"You, motherfucker. Same question." He growled, voodoo's riling.

"I don't know! I don't know! Speed?!" The troll held his hands in front of his face but it wasn't enough to protect him.

Bam, one hit and more blood. It was purifying him. Gamzee let his fangs drag over his wrists, tasting it, before pointing to the next troll.

"YOU. SAME QUESTION."

"Strength! Please! Don't kill me-!"

BAM. The blood splattered his face this time, he felt it on his eyelashes.

"SAME. MOTHERFUCKING. QUESTION." He pressed his club up against the neck of the seventh troll, smelling his fear, preparing to feel it hold and release like the others', when-

"F-f-flight."

There was a silence that pressed in on Gamzee like a vacuum, the voices shrivelled into nothing. His headache flared once and was gone.

He slowly backed off, looking the troll over.

He looked perhaps the least like Tavros of all of them. His large horns were curved forward, not angled upward. He was shorter, and narrower in build, his hair was a curly mop...

But his eyes had a ring of orange that was almost the exact shade of Tavros's, his nose was broad like Tavros's, and his voice...

"What did you just say?"

"F-flight?" The troll whispered, trying to swallow behind the club with brown tears in its eyes.

Gamzee watched the troll for a long moment while his blood pusher slowed to a steady beat. Then, dazedly as if in a daymare, he looked up at Amalthea. Who grinned back at him, satisfied.

"I want him."

"Then he is yours."

Amalthea pushed himself from the wall, circling around again. The brownbloods who were left were shaking, bearing their teeth in fear and shying away from him, as much as they could manage with the weight of their dead comrades dragging down their chains. He came to a stop next to Gamzee, looking over the one he had picked.

It's symbol had been a thing made of loops with no straight lines or edges. It had cried when he first grabbed it, wading through the flocks of brown bloods on Alternia.

"You should name him."

Gamzee stared down at the troll before him, wide eyed and shivering. He lowered his club, reached out a claw and scraped a bit of foreign blood splatter from the troll's ear.

"He's already got a name." He muttered. "What's your name, brother?"

The troll flinched when his ear was touched. He looked from Gamzee to the Grand Highblood, who stared hard, grin promising pain. He shook his head, biting his lip and not daring to make a sound.

Gamzee looked over his shoulder at Amalthea, who wasn't going to let him have his way apparently, even this once. He frowned just enough to show fang, in response to the Highblood's grin.

"What the fuck should I name him then, if you're so motherfucking insistent on bein' all creative and shit?"

He gave a snort. "Names are personal, runt. He's not mine to name. He's yours. Name it a favourite food of yours if you want a motherfucking suggestion."

"Why the fuck would I do that? I ain't gonna eat him." Gamzee almost rolled his eyes except they hurt too much and he was on thin ice already. The Highblood let him get away with more backtalk, far more, than he would tolerate from any other troll (save maybe his foul-ass, queen bee bitch of a moirail) but he had his limits, like anyone else.

"I got an idea anyway now..." He muttered, turning back to the as-of-yet unnamed slave. There was something in his face, in the blood that dripped, and the eyes than shone fire-bright. Reminded him of something maybe he dreamed once, or hallucinated.

"Cal."

The slave, Cal, looked down and closed his eyes, eyebrows tightening at the name.

Amalthea reached forwards and grasped him by the chin, turning his head this way and that.

"Suits him."

He pulled a key from his jacket and unlocked Cal's neck and wrist cuffs, then shoved him towards Gamzee.

"Here. Take it with you. You can either keep it in your own room, or use one of my spares."

He turned to the rest of the trolls who had moved back as far as their chains would allow.

"And Gamzee, I WILL be checking on him. Consider Cal to be a test. Maybe, if I think you are a good owner, you might get my Fly's descendant after I tire of him. Now get lost."

Gamzee took one last look at his ancestor heading towards the remaining brownbloods like a wolf circling a flock of bleatbeasts, and decided he didn't want to stick around.

"Come on, brother." He muttered softly and turned to leave, not bothering to check if Cal was following him

Cal froze for a second, looking back at the others he had been imprisoned with for the last week, the two bodies left where they fell. The Grand Highblood barely bothered stepping over him. The Highblood growled, and Cal ran, doing his best not to trip over the chains linking his ankles as he followed.

The doors shut behind them, abruptly cutting off the sound. Cal swallowed, cheeks stained, and eyes darting as he tried to desperately remember landmarks for later.

Gamzee was lost in thought, or more like, lost in the black hole where his thoughts should have been. He was so damn tired. The cull had left him drained down deep where the nothingness hid, under layers of rock-like rage and guilt and darkness.

He retraced his steps mechanically, passing by the doors to the Grand Hall where the festival was still under way. He didn't look back at Cal until he reached the elevator pod.

"Get in." He stood aside and let Cal enter before him, then pressed the button for The Highblood's personal deck. The floor where he, Tavros and both of their ancestors resided. He didn't say a word and the ride was tense and silent.

Once they reached Gamzee's block Cal seemed to be antsier than ever. Gamzee watched him as he looked around at the paint splattered floor, walls and ceiling. The room was kept dark and cold, and Gamzee realized for the first time that the shivering the lowblood exhibited might not have been entirely out of fear.

"S.S. Big Top." Gamzee spoke out loud. "Lower temperature to greenblood." There was the 'ding' that signalled the ship's AI had registered him and already he could feel the room getting warmer. Too warm for him, just scratching on the edge of uncomfortable, but less likely to give his new blockmate hypothermia.

He eyed Cal for a second, before gesturing to his chair and desk, his shelves full of training manuals, and his recourpracoon.

"So... this is it. My block."

Cal's eyes darted around the room that he would be sharing with, this Gamzee. He was so lost in his examination, that the other finally speaking caused him to jump, chains clinking. His gaze darted to the other's face before snapping down. He didn't say anything, unsure if Gamzee even wanted a response. The Grand Highblood had always asked things, or said things, without really wanting a response. Those who did usually ended up under his focus.

His legs shook underneath him as he stood on his numb feet. He was grateful that the highblood had changed the temperature. Maybe he would start to feel his feet again soon. A loud gurgle echoed in the quiet room. He didn't know when the last time he had even eaten.

Gamzee sat at his desk and pointed to an empty chair.

"Take a load off, brother. You hungering for anything? I could call up some grub." He asked, feeling himself dozing slightly. It was good to sit down again, every day on this ship made him feel like he'd aged a sweep.

Cal shifted on his feet, moving back so his back was towards the wall. His eyes snapped down and he shook his head. The last troll that said yes ended up being the meal for the rest. He didn't want to know what this new highblood would do.

Gamzee watched the troll for a second then leaned forward, lowering his voice some.

"I know you can use that speechbox of yours, motherfucker. Look, I know what I did down there...it was fucked, all up and six ways from sundown, but you ain't gotta be scared of me now. I ain't him."

A voice in Gamzee's head objected. You look like him, you CULL like him, what more is there? He pushed it down.

"I don't look it, but I'm as much a slave as you are." He ended, bitterly.

Cal froze, his heart beating with fear as the other trolls voice lowered, hitting the same sounds as the bigger one had. He didn't hear the words he was saying, only focusing on the low, gravely voice that sounded just like the others'.

It sent a chill down his spine and he pressed himself closer to the wall, unable to help the whining noise he made. A warbling sound that begged please, don't hurt me.

Gamzee watched Cal sink further into the wall, staring at him like he expected to be slaughtered any second. It was a fair assumption, Gamzee acquiesced, but he was bone tired and the rage that always bubbled over into violence in the Highblood's presence, had dissipated into a lonely, vacant guilt.

With a sigh he closed his eyes and focused all his energy into calming himself, until he could taste Cal's fear as clear as if it were his own. He breathed in, trying to siphon it away, suck it out of the air and into some dark recess within himself. Dispelling fear was a lot harder than dispensing it, it was something Gamzee had figured out how to do by himself over a sweep of trial and error, maybe the Highblood knew how to do it too, but he sure as fuck hadn't shared any of that know-how with him.

"You gonna be alright, brother. We all friendly here, get it?"

Cal's fear felt like it was leaking from him. Like there was a faucet attached to his head and someone had just turned the knob. He tried to get scared of it leaving, of his heart beat slowly decreasing, of his body relaxing. It just wouldn't come, dribbling out with the rest. There was just, an absence, he felt hollow.

He looked up, towards the other without the fear of being struck, looked into his eyes. There was a shine to them, he was using some kind of power. It was taking his fear away, all the things that bothered him. It was like magic.

"…Okay."

"Okay." Gamzee relaxed back into his chair again. "You want something to eat, man? I bet that sack of shit ain't gave you a taste in your trap in days, am I right?" he asked.

Cal watched the highblood relax, his body loose, but not in a fight way. Without the fear though, another emotion was digging up through his exhausted mind.

He looked up at the Highblood sitting in the chair, relaxed, and still bloodspattered. It was Henvil's blood on his face. They had been next to each other for all those days they had been kept in the room and crates before. They had kept up conversations, half-assed pale flirtations that meant nothing.

"...I don't see why you would care. Why are you even asking. I don't understand..."

Creave's blood was there too, on his hands. Even if he had done nothing but yell at everything, he had been a part of their group, still had directed some of the big Highblood's attention away from Thyane, who only cried all the time. He was dead, just like the others who had been there from the start, when their number had been fifty. Though every day The Highblood would return to thin their ranks.

Gamzee shrugged.

"I'm not heartless, I'm just a motherfucker who was in the wrong motherfucking place at the wrong motherfucking time. Like you and..." Gamzee trailed off, thinking of the trolls he'd left alone with the Highblood, and of Tavros. Tried to put them out of his mind. "...and the others. I ain't about to starve a brother."

No, not starve, just bowl you down, laugh at the warmth of your filth on my skin, the voice whispered.

"So, you hungry or what?"

Cal shifted, gaze flickering around the room to look at something else, anything but the person who was making him feel hollow.

"Yes. food would be good. But not big. Nothing big. I haven't eaten…. I haven't eaten… I don't know. Maybe three night cycles ago. He fed us. He fed us one of the others. I don't know who."

He shifted on his feet. The body had been partway rotting when they had become too hungry to ignore it. He could still taste it, disgusting and squishy. It had reeked to high heaven.

"Damn son, 'shit's vile." Gamzee yawned. He stood up slowly and pushed a buzzer on his desk. "Yo, send up a some Grubloaf, well done, the good shit." He waited for the Gastroblock supervisor to warble some static-y assent then let go of the button and made his way to where Cal stood.

"I'm Gamzee Makara." He held out his bloody hand to shake. "You want to let me know where your real motherfuckin' name's at? Maybe we can get all acquainted and skip the part where you hate my guts?"

He looked at the hand for a moment. It was gross, the nails were ragged at the edges and the blood was drying. He looked back to Gamzee's face. He didn't touch the hand.

"No. I don't want to. The big one. He said he would be checking on me. I don't want him to know. I don't..." He shook his head, the wall behind him firm. His stomach gurgled again and he winced.

"It's cool, bro, I get it. I'll, uh, just stick to Cal." Gamzee withdrew his hand. He stood there awkwardly for a second before he yawned again and looked over his shoulder at his beckoning recoupracoon, suddenly realizing it was nearing daybreak and he didn't have anywhere for Cal to sleep.

...Oh well, what was another sleepless day?

"After you eat you can take the 'coon, aright?" As if on cue there was a rapping at the door and he swaggered over to get the food.

Cal stayed where he was, watching as Gamzee moved toward the door, willingly turning his back on him. He didn't seem particularly aware if his surroundings at all, showing off a 'kill me' sign like that. Then again, what could he honestly even do?

He hoped that whatever was at the door wasn't the big one. Would he have even knocked? He flattened himself against the wall.

It turned out to be just food. It smelt good, even from all the way over where he stood. It made his stomach knot and his mouth fill with saliva.

"I'll handle that." Gamzee said to the delivery drone, and he took the tray from him before shutting the door with his foot.

The food smelled good, that was for sure. Gamzee grinned and turned, putting the tray on a nearby table and starting to separate dishes and serve out helpings enough for two. It was a feast fit for nobility, the grub loaf, sauces and various side dishes prepared so perfectly it was as if the Chef's life depended on it, which it often did. Since Gamzee had gone off Sopor his appetite had increased steadily, and he licked his lips before looking up at Cal, who was obviously shaking from hunger and already devouring the spread with his eyes.

"Pull up a hindquarter cushion and take a load off, friend. More than enough grub to go around." He took a seat himself and motioned to a chair opposite him.

Cal stalled a second, looking from the food back up to the troll sitting there, motioning for him to take a seat. Was this a trick? Or would he just torture him? "…Not your friend." He muttered

He gingerly sat down at the edge of the seat. It smelt even better up close, he bit his lip as his stomach growled. There was a plate of neatly sliced pieces sitting in front of him, with sauces and utensils. He ignored them in favour of just getting the warm, freshly cooked food in his mouth as fast as he could, before the highblood decided that he didn't want to waste such good food on him.

The tastes exploded on his tongue. He couldn't remember the last time he had tasted something so good. Swallowing made his stomach cramp a bit, but he didn't care as he ripped off another piece with his claws, shoving it into his mouth.

Gamzee smiled sleepily and continued eating as he watched Cal do the same. His head hurt and there had been so much death today (HAPPY MOTHERFUCKING GATHERING AFTER ALL) but at least he'd saved somebody, maybe. A troll could hope.

He was struck again by the traits of Cal's that were and were not like Tavros. Their blood colour was the most strikingly similar thing about them, though now that Gamzee closely observed the troll's various scrapes and the colour of his eyes, he noticed the shade was a little brighter, and just slightly redder than Tavros'. But it was still so close…

Now that Gamzee had heard him form longer sentences, his voice had less of the stutter he'd assumed and more a fast, frantic repitition. But it was still so easy to imagine a warm smile on his face, a familiar crinkling of the eyes and nose, a quiet, jittery laugh. Gamzee hadn't heard Tavros laugh in sweeps. With the size of his horns, how small he looked. It was like looking down a hole into his past.

He let his eyes wander to a leg clothed in worn, unwashed pants. One pantleg was ripped off at the knee. Maybe that's what Tavros's knee would've looked like. His eyes continued to wander, his eyebrows knitting and chest tightening as he forgot about his food, and remembered a different sort of hunger.

Cal didn't notice at first, not until he had polished most of the grub loaf from his plate. He had just chanced looking up at the Highblood, who was very obviously staring at him.

He was staring at him the same way the big one had, like he was going to eat him up, dig his teeth and hands in until he screamed. He flinched, trying to bring his knees closer together from where they had the spread wide to help balance himself.

"…no, please…"

The whimpering snapped Gamzee out of his reverie, he met Cal's eyes and realized with a start that he'd been staring. More than staring, wanting. Now Cal was terrified again.

He set down his fork and knife and pushed his plate away, food half uneaten.

"Sorry…You just remind me of…" He Let his eyes drop, and stared at his own hand. So much different from the one he'd possessed when he'd boarded this ship. It was large, stained, veined. The claws long and sharp and red with keratin. He made a fist and released it.

"You don't gotta sleep here, I was just worried that he'd come back for you, is all, but…Maybe he ain't the only clown you should be afraid of. But I guess you already got that figured out."

He pushed his chair away and stood up, shoulders hunched. And turned to face away from Cal.

"There's an empty block across from mine. You can have it. The passcode's 'wild style' but you can change it once you're inside so I don't gotta have no knowing of what it is." He spoke low and fast. "So, yeah…that's where we're at. Do what you feel you got to, brother."

A block to himself? What was this guy playing at? What was he even going on about? He was still hungry, but didn't dare take anymore from the plate, even though he got a feeling that Gamzee wouldn't care.

He looked to the door, would the big one come after him? Would he be safer here, with this new highblood that showed an interest in him, but might not act on it, and had done nothing to hurt him, yet? He sat there, trying to decide, which option was worse.

He quietly got up and inched his way cautiously to the door, looking back towards Gamzee, as if asking permission, before going to the door. It slid open underneath his hand and right across the hall, was another doorway.

He looked back to the troll in the room, who stood still, watching him. His blood pusher was pounding in his chest as the door opened to the password he put in. The room was bland, only a table and an old recoupracoon.

He cast one last look at Gamzee as the doorway slid shut.

He waited a few moments, and when reassured that the door wasn't going to reopen, he crumpled to the ground and cried.

Gamzee's posture relaxed and he shut his own door as well.

His mind replayed the scene of Cal's terrified face when he'd thought Gamzee was about to jump him at the table, how he'd drawn back, eyes wide and legs closed tight. How he'd pleaded "no", and Motherfuck if Gamzee hadn't unsheathed right then and there. His nook and inner thighs were wet and hot, and he felt just about shittiest he had in a long time.

It took all of a few seconds to pull off his ceremonial drab and get inside his 'coon. Sick of the whole damn night as he was. He didn't touch himself, but he knew how good it'd feel to come around thick fingers slick with hot sopor, dangerous images in his head. These days, in his fantasies, it didn't matter if it was him or Tavros or anybody else. Someone was always screaming, someone was always saying "no".

He rolled on his side, and fell asleep with his arms wrapped around himself like a cage.