"I guess you do, at that," Dave replies, but it's a little absent, because he's just seen something - or thinks he's seen something, at least - that he doesn't know how he's been missing all this time. Only, now that he's thinking about it, maybe he has been noticing it all along, and he just hasn't ever stopped to think about what it means.
See, 'cause the thing about Gamzee is that half the time, Dave doesn't get him. All his talk about miracles, all the weird troll culture stuff - all that just goes straight over Dave's head (although, give him some credit, he's trying). But there's one thing he can't hide, not from Dave, and that's the way he moves.
Gamzee's all limbs, lanky and tall, like someone grabbed him on both ends and just pulled real hard. But his body talks louder than he does (and man, can that troll shout when he gets going), and that's a language Dave speaks just fine. He knows when Gamzee's having a bad day when the troll moves like he's made of glass, like he'll just break apart if he moves too fast, or cut himself on one of his own jagged edges. And he knows it's not so bad when the troll moves like the ocean, all loose and fluid and smooth. That's how Gamzee moves at the tables - and now that Dave's thinking about it, that's how Gamzee moves around him, too.
Maybe it's just watching Gamzee come straight from the tables over to him. Maybe that's why Dave suddenly sees it, that weird stutter step that only takes an instant - like there's some weird space between the tables and Dave that Gamzee doesn't want to go through. A space where all the hurt comes back, just for a moment.
Or maybe he's just fucking over-thinking it. Go figure, right? Fucking troll probably just tripped over one of his own damn feet.
Shaking his head a little, Dave pushes all these weird-ass thoughts out of his head and glances sideways through his shades as the troll approaches.
"Might even be time to introduce you to proper society," he says, arching a pale eyebrow. "Or, you know, as proper as that shit gets when it's all rubbing up against other people in dark rooms at night."
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branchandroot
Fuuuu, this got lost in my inbox somehow. Still up to log?
Date: 2012-11-27 08:05 am (UTC)See, 'cause the thing about Gamzee is that half the time, Dave doesn't get him. All his talk about miracles, all the weird troll culture stuff - all that just goes straight over Dave's head (although, give him some credit, he's trying). But there's one thing he can't hide, not from Dave, and that's the way he moves.
Gamzee's all limbs, lanky and tall, like someone grabbed him on both ends and just pulled real hard. But his body talks louder than he does (and man, can that troll shout when he gets going), and that's a language Dave speaks just fine. He knows when Gamzee's having a bad day when the troll moves like he's made of glass, like he'll just break apart if he moves too fast, or cut himself on one of his own jagged edges. And he knows it's not so bad when the troll moves like the ocean, all loose and fluid and smooth. That's how Gamzee moves at the tables - and now that Dave's thinking about it, that's how Gamzee moves around him, too.
Maybe it's just watching Gamzee come straight from the tables over to him. Maybe that's why Dave suddenly sees it, that weird stutter step that only takes an instant - like there's some weird space between the tables and Dave that Gamzee doesn't want to go through. A space where all the hurt comes back, just for a moment.
Or maybe he's just fucking over-thinking it. Go figure, right? Fucking troll probably just tripped over one of his own damn feet.
Shaking his head a little, Dave pushes all these weird-ass thoughts out of his head and glances sideways through his shades as the troll approaches.
"Might even be time to introduce you to proper society," he says, arching a pale eyebrow. "Or, you know, as proper as that shit gets when it's all rubbing up against other people in dark rooms at night."