[With each word he advances a single step. He's still shaking but his voice has gone lyrical again and it would sound starkly beautiful if not for the words he's saying. Dave has already won the first round, hands motherfucking down. Taking his faith, any hope of ever having a proper flushed quadrant--who'd want a broken, unstable, uncultured indigo blood? None of the living trolls, that's for sure--rubbing it all in like that. But there's always the next round, and like hell is he going down without a motherfucking fight. When he gets close enough he reaches out to touch, trying to push Dave's glasses off with an incredibly gentle touch. His face is anything but gentle though, and his voice quiets to an even more intimate sing-song. All part of the mind game. A mind game Gamzee knows he's terrifyingly good at.]



[Gamzee reaches down with his other hand and tries to bring Dave's free hand up to his face, to dab his fingers through the blood with a soft, exultant noise.]