Gamzee blinks at the other boy - things were a lot farther apart than a few hours, for him. Roads in the UK were often small and twisting, not giants motorways that connected everything. From where he lived, it was at least four hours to get to London, and that was only if the traffic was really good, which of course it never was near the city. Driving for four hours there and four hours back was an awful lot of petrol, and not something his father would be willing to pay for, just so Gamzee could pick up some potions ingredients or the like.

"He won't drive that far," is all the Slytherin says, though, cocking his head to the side as Tony leans in closer. It doesn't seem to bother him, the proximity, though - Gamzee's personal space bubble is almost non-existent.

"Down with the motherfuckin' clown," he repeats, grinning. "ICP! The mirhtful motherfuckin' messiahs! Yeah, it be grease paint. I put some shit in it, though, sometimes, so it don't be smearing all over my word hole or peepers when I get all heated up."