(HAHA DIDN'T EXPECT THE NEXT STORY TO COME SO SOON, DID YOU?? MWAHAHAHA I HAVE SURPRISED YOU ALL!!! probably, I don’t know, maybe you fully expected this and I be-th the fool here. WELL WHETHER YOU EXPECTED IT OR NOT THIS STORY IS HERE AND I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOY‼️
Many, many, MANY THANKS TO @zedleaked for LETTING ME MAKE THIS!!!! Also thank to @kris-the-chaos-man for helping me write a skeleton for Ben's and Brian's scene together :D NOW THEN LET US BEGIN. Uhhh also It/He Brian and He/They Ben)
(TW: Minor body horror elements)
Cogs slowly descended from the sky. Like a Conveyancer, newly hired by C.O.G.S Inc, Connie Venya, excited for her first day. Street duty, nothing too hard, just monitor the streets, report back to Lawbot HQ with the amount of toons and- ACK!! The conveyancer hit the ground along with a few other cogs who indignantly fixed their suits. The cause of this tripping ran through Loopy Lane like the world was going to explode unless he and he alone got to his meeting. Thanks Prethinker.
It was 6:30. With luck, he’d be at the fishing pond on Tenor Terrace long before Benjamin. Unless, of course, they were already there, wondering where Brian was and how they were there first despite Daffodil Gardens being an entire other district away from it. Brian paused briefly to try fixing his propellor but as it shot off a spark, he decided against it. He was going to be LATE.
The large, burlywood and small, sandy yellow stones of the Toontown Central sidewalks changed to large, slate blue and small, brick pink stones of Mezzo Melodyland under Prethinker’s feet. It exited from the tunnel, shoving past yet another poor soul (this time being a highly confused orangish-brown armadillo with sunglasses) who was just trying to go back to Mezzo Melodyland. Too bad, you should’ve thought ahead, toon.
Cogs continued to blaze past Brian, almost reminding him of days long gone by. He better make this quick, it hated dwelling on the past. When Brian took a turn, he skidded to a stop, just steps away from slamming fast first into a fairy pink wall and music stand shaped khaki colored tree. It had been far too long since he had been in Mezzo Melodyland. There were so many turns on this damn street and now he was getting turned around and now there’s a bunch of cogs staring at him all judgingly and NOW he’s in front of the Musical Master of Melody HOW DID HE GET HERE HE’S SUPPOSED TO BE AT THE FISHING POND!
Brian groaned (screamed actually) into its hands, WHY IN THE WORLD WAS THIS STREET SPECIFICALLY SUCH A MAZE!? It hates everything, it just hates everything. Screw this stupid street and- calm down, Brian, it’s only 6:40, this street is not that long, you’ll be there before Ben, far before Benjamin actually. There is no world where he beats it here! Toontown Central is way closer to Mezzo Melodyland than Daffodil Gardens will ever be.
The dirt on slate blue bricks scraped under his dress shoes as Brian ran between 2 large cog buildings, both bossbot buildings. He was completely out of breath, gears and servos clicking and whirring far too fast and far too loud, making him wish he had brought something to drink WHERE IS BENJAMIN BIGGS.
They had agreed on the fishing pond in Tenor Terrace at 6:50 sharp, why was he running late!?
Cool your vents, Brian. They’ll be here. No, they better be here, this meeting was IMPORTANT! They had a lot of stuff to talk about. Hopefully things very worth him coming into this ridiculously, loud horrorshow and completely stressing out when he could be in that basement doing non-stressful things like making more brianbots or playing a game of chess with one of the smarter brianbots or playing that simple-minded sealife game with the heaps of salmon that Misty told him about.
And if he’s not, Daffodil Gardens isn’t that far away.
Brian’s phone loudly buzzed, ringing out one of the songs from that frivolous sealife game that it did not like. Benjamin. About flipping time. That weasley bell cog better have a reason to not be here. Brian picked up the phone, foot tapping.
“Benjamin!” He whisper-shouted, “Where are you!? We agreed on the fishing pond! The one on Tenor Terrace!”
“Fishin’ pond? No, mate, we agreed on the Musical Master of Melody buildin’. I’ve been standin’ in the back for a good 30 minutes by now.”
“THE MUSICAL MASTER OF MELODY!? WE AGREED ON THE FISHING POND, YOU, in your words, PRATS!!”
“Love, you’re not using that word correctly. Sorry, mate, but my reminder says the Musical Master of Melody. Perhaps your brain explodin’ so often ‘as left your memory like a sieve.” Brian felt the grip on its phone loosen. What was it shouting for? It was an honest mistake, and besides, behind the Musical Master of Melody was a better place to have an important talk. At least there, no toons would try to listen in on important details. Brian gave the purple horse toon a disgusted side-eye.
Brian deflated. “R-Right. I remember now. I’ll…meet you there.” Brian hung up before Ben could get another word in. They had been trying to ask Brian something but he didn’t bother to listen. Whatever question Ben needed to ask was not so important that they couldn’t ask Brian at the meet-up spot.
Hey, wait, what’s that horse doing-
Ben leaned against the back wall of the Musical Master of Melody. Their golden hands rested in their burgundy trenchcoat’s pockets. They didn’t have the sellbots logo on, no need to, they’re off the job! Actually, they marked the entire month out. …Why did they need the whole month off? Cosmo wasn’t still after them for their comments about the of astronomical proportions CRATER on the back of his head, nor was Prester for Ben’s apparently foolish, condescending and incredulous mockery of him (hey, Witch Hunter, it’s called a puppet show). Hm…well, whatever it was, the V.P let them have the month off so it was, from a business perspective, fine.
Where was Brian? The fishing pond isn’t that far from the Musical Master of Melody, is it?
Well, if the man’s going to take donkey’s years to get here, certainly it wouldn’t mind if Ben called it again, surely. Ben slipped his phone from his pocket and simply pressed Brian’s contact. A moment later, Brian’s phone leaped over the light yellow fence (Brian insisted it was a shade of yellow called khaki but Ben never cared to learn the exact names of specific colors, colors are colors). Brian’s ringtone played for the world to hear. That’s one way to let Ben know it was there. "About time, mate, I was just ‘bout to leave if you kept bein’ a no-show.” This comment was followed by the self-proclaimed smartest of all cogs climbing over the fence in the way that only someone who didn’t know how to climb over a fence would. Ben watched as Brian wobbled on the top of the fence and fell onto its side onto the light blue rocks. It was heaving.
Ben stifled a laugh. “Yew keep doin’ that instead of just walkin’ through the buildin’s back entrance and you’ll start lookin’ like Kilo.” Brian shot the bell cog a glare, clutching his shoulder. He started grumbling about not wanting to explain to Dave or Buck what he was doing sneaking out back.
“Your…quips are not appreciated.”
“I’m not quipin’, mate, just sayin’ the truth.”
“Ah, some folk say that, I think they’ve just never seen charisma.”
Brian got onto his feet, servos buzzing and his fans activating. Did it not occur to Brian that it had a propeller to make trips easier? Why in the world had it been running?
“So, whot in the world we needed to meet up for?” Ben tucked their hands into their pockets, patting down their trench coat from the inside. They eyed the exit doors to the Musical Master of Melody, stare darkening at the sight of a bright flash from inside. Seems that Dave and Buck just got together. Strange, seems Ben and Brian were early.
“Cant seemta remember,” He shrugged. Brian gave Ben an even angrier look. It looked so frazzled. It started to remind Ben of…
Brian knew better, didn’t he? He knows that he’s dangerous. Then again-
Brian huffed, holding up a finger. It was busy sweeping the dust off of its purple suit almost obsessively. "One moment, Ben,” Brian said in a shockingly calm voice, “I just finished running all the way here from the fishing pond!" It flicked some water off his foot.
“Whot, did you decide to take a small dip, Brian?” Brian’s brain turned red. Seems the chap wasn’t a fan of the comment. “If you must know, a toon pushed me in. The fisherman at the pond.” Liquid dripped from behind his face plate, “And they didn’ hold you under the wa’er?” Brian paused hand cupping under his head. “Dang it, Ben, do you have a rag? Handkerchief.” When Ben handed Brian his handkerchief, he quickly handed it back, now stained with a purple liquid. Yeah, Brian got a confused look from Ben for that.
“Thank you.” Brian cleared his throat, standing properly with one hand tucked behind his back. He took a polite, calming breath.
"HOW COULD YOU FORGET!?" Birds sitting on the fence took off, crowing scornfully. Brian had its hand pointed at him accusingly, “I thought you set a reminder, Benjamin Biggs, DID YOU NOT!?” Ben wasn’t taken aback. It just made him uncomfortable. Brian always had a short fuse, low tolerance for its fellow cogs’ stupidity, lower tolerance for toons. Still, this felt vaguely familiar in the worst way. Ben had noticed it in himself as well, he had started recently leaving battles against toons sooner with less than pleasant words to them. Wanting to turn his healing bell on them with a new, far more painful chime.
"You 'member?” Benjamin asked, somewhat sarcastically. Since Brian remembered so well, he must know exactly what they’re doing here. All that was put on Ben’s reminder was 'Meet with Brian behind the…’
Ben looked back at the large, lavish building behind him. The golden walls encasing the glassy, bright front of the building, and the comedically dusty, dirty, inglorious backside of the building.
The Musical Master of Melody…
Where Dave’s show was held every night, as well as another show only in Maypril.
High Roller’s High Roller show was held here every year.
And where there is a High Roller, there is a-
"Of course I remember!” Brian’s answer instantly halted Ben’s thought train, making it crash into a wall, “How dare you doubt my memory, Benjamin! Yes! I noticed my memory has been lacking recently, it’s not my fault!" Brian stepped closer, his feet shuffled, cautiously angrily, trying to remember something else. His foot tapped to unheard music, or in an obsessive, repetitive way. "How do we do this again...?" Ben watched Brian pace slightly. Since Brian didn’t remember, maybe Ben could snap some sense into him. They had to.
"Brian…” Ben stood tall over the smaller cog. It had paused to look at Ben, its antenna twitched. Ben continued, “You and I both know he's dangerous, it’s why we try to avoid each other. Because that thing keeps tryin’ to get us together to fuse again. We suppress him. So why aren’t you?” Ben paused. Something’s not right, “Or is this not Brian I’m talkin’ to…” Brian’s cautious stepping back halted, it straightened, looking more offended than Witch Hunter on the average day. Brian face palmed, gripping its face plate tightly. Any tighter and it might’ve ripped it off!
Brian’s voice oozed from his speakers, "Not this again. You're just like those jockeys! Asking if it would actually be me that walks inside the basement- Of course it's me! I wouldn’t be that stupid to not notice these things!" He reached out to grab Ben's hand.
But Ben stepped back, keeping his hand away from Brian’s. "No. We’re not doing this again,” Ben stopped himself from calling it out directly, don’t give him more attention. Those cogs of Brian’s were the definition of stupid, but even so, they knew their boss. They understood the concept of time at the bare minimum. They knew it wasn’t going to be Brian that came back from this trip to Mezzo Melodyland. Brian fumed.
"You and the jockeys both are being ridiculous!! You act like I'm being mind controlled!” His face plate twitched and eyes spun like he had been lured into one of those toons’ nasty traps. “For the record, Benjamin, I am not!" Ben didn’t have enough time to pull their hand away a second time. They felt Brian’s hand wrap around their wrist. They felt the metal from this touch grow warm. Brian's always been pushy, he's always been loud with a short fuse.
Though...in the recent weeks, it feels like his fuse has been shorter.
There was a pause in Brian’s eyes.
But the pause had come too late.
He tried to pull his hand away from Ben's. But the purple metal clung to Ben’s golden metal, melding to a far less colorful, dim grey. No matter how much Brian pulled, their hands were not letting go of each other.
Ben tried to pull his hand away as well, stepping on Brian’s foot in his panic, “You cog damned IDIOT!” Ben couldn’t stop himself from yelling at Brian. The brainiac was scared. It had the audacity to look scared after this, Ben wanted to STRANGLE IT! Ben attempted to pull his hand away as well and yet the metal was uncannily stringy, refusing to part, same with the metal of Ben’s foot trapping Brian’s.
Brian pushed his other hand against the wall but it was just as ineffective, weakly telling the bell to stop panicking, that Brian could handle it. Both cogs shared a look. Ben’s was angry and Brian’s was scared. Haunting, remorseful, enraged, betrayed.
A dark flash filled the space behind the building. The panic stopped all too suddenly. The silence that filled the back alley the building stood in was suffocating. The fusion stood to his feet, legs shaky at first but straightened after a quick breath. His fingers twitched as if getting used to moving them again from being outside during the winter; he adjusted his hand-sewn cloak to hide his legs.
Why, that had to be the easiest scheme of his life! Brian insisted he was the smartest of all cogs and yet, HE had been smarter! Brian refused to believe he could ever try such a simple trick such as a simple reminder to get the two to meet up. Well, Brian, he just did! AND IT WORKED!! TAKE THAT, YOU NARROWMINDED PRAT!!
The shouting started in his head but as soon as it did, he easily suppressed their ranting. Like turning down the volume on the radio. Ben’s angry yelling at Brian and Brian yelling back at Ben with excuses became nothing more than background static in his head.
He brushed his cloak off, getting more comfortable with his limbs. Quick plug check! About 3 plugs shot out from behind his back, looping in the air. Good! They retracted just as smoothly as they protracted. NOW! To check in on-
He took a set back, looking at the ground under his black boot. Lying on the stones was an interesting thing. An envelope closed with a wax stamp; the Sellbots logo detailed it. Now with a boot print on it! Wow!
…Well, it was technically a Sellbot considering both of his components are. And this was a Sellbot letter (probably some worthless business memos that were far less important than one-uping that horrendous fusion between that hopeless gambler and that hedonistic Just Dance champion) and his components both already hate him. Nothing he could do to make them like him. He didn’t need their approval regardless! They’re a bunch of orange-cat-toon brained dimwits!
The envelope opened without issue, like whichever of his components wanted them to read it. Inside, he found a note clearly written by the Prethinker. He didn’t have to sign it with a sincerely for it to know, Brian wrote all of his entries in the same, fancy purple pen. That frivolous purple pen wasn’t even that good! Sometimes, he wanted to snap the pen, just to see how Brian would react. So he could laugh at the misery of his awful components!
The note was to someone named Leaf (who names their kid Leaf? ‘Most-boring-name-and-not-in-a-cool-way award goes to that idiot. And if this Leaf chose that name themselves, what kind of dummy would choose LEAF as a name?? LEAF??? Can you get any more BORING???). It wasn’t a polite note by any means, try heavily condescending. Naturally.
But who was this Leaf person? It didn’t sound like a cog name but it also sounded too boring to belong to a toon. Who would ever name a toon Leaf? What an unflattering name! Hey there, Gluestick, you feeling alright today? No, sorry, Water Bottle, I’m not feeling good at all. And various other examples of similarly stupid names.
Besides, why would one or any of his components be writing to a toon? Not only, why would either of his components be writing to a toon about such sensitive information such as debating if the Prethinker was a “real cog”? Whatever that meant. He’d learn what it meant eventually, there was only so long his components could hide their secrets from him!
All that mattered currently was checking up on that tunnel-visioned plunger!
This year, he had made tracking down his arch nemesis far easier. Instead of fusing somewhere far so he had to walk the long distance to the stage of that stupid duck (and risk being seen before his time), he tricked his components into fusing here, right behind the building! Sometimes, he was truly NONPLUSSED by how little his components tended to be able predict his schemes!
His fingers wrapped around the back door and soundlessly opened it to the dusty back stage. Any alarms that his nemesis set up were quickly silenced with his plugs into the backs of their heads (carefully, he’s not a monster), forcing the INSIDIOUS MONSTERS into early hibernation. Once he had been certain he got every little green vermin, he extended his eyes around the corners of the stage. He knew he had shockingly been just slightly early (or that mallard had the AUDACITY to be AN ENTIRE WEEK LATE TO HER OWN SHOW!!! AGAIN!!) but he couldn’t seem to find hyr on the stage. He KNEW Benjamin saw the flash, HIS “QUACKJESTY” (a very STUPID TITLE BY THE WAY) HAD TO BE HERE! WHERE WAS HY!?
His eyes retreated back, just barely out of the way of a smaller anvil labeled the ‘comedy anvil: snack sized’. His eyes narrowed and aimed up towards the ceiling.
She was setting up the stage, telling 2 of hys absurd light clones to help him make the stage properly ready for her. He wanted to roll his eyes and say something but at the same time, best to not give himself away just yet. He retracted his eyes and his cables. Time for the planning stage, he had a particularly good one this year and he knew exactly where to begin his planning. Where better than that secluded, shabby, schoolhouse basement that one of his components called a workplace?
After all, where there is a High Roller, there is a Know-It-All.
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