[Gamzee lurches up. He's not steady on his feet, but he'll be damned if he doesn't greet his not-dead bro who he's all flushed for properly.

The kiss misses and lands on Tavros's cheek, but it's pretty obvious where he was aiming. There's watery indigo dripping down his face, but with all his blood from the claw marks it's easy to miss. The dried streaks of brown around his mouth or the splatters of green and blue all over his shirt and hands? Not so much.]



[The overflowing joy gives him strength but he's still shaking all over. He almost misses what Dave says. Almost. He almost doesn't put the pieces together. Almost. It takes him a minute anyway, and then he's pushing away from Tavros with a bloodstained pair of clubs in hand. There's sheer hate twisting his face, but it's flickering. Cycling rapidly between platonic murderous rage and something more...caliginous. He yells, voice cracking and then softens to an acidic, almost sultry whisper.]



[He won't be hard to stop; he can barely keep a grip on the clubs, or to his feet. But that's if he can be caught before he finishes the lunge.]