Eonan wasn't the type of person that enjoyed inflicting violence, they never did before and doubted that they would one day. At least not seriously.
A good brawl in a bar isn't the same thing as beating someone until they can't walk. Raiding a ship for their own survival isn't the same as torturing the ship's crew just because you can.
But he understood that everyone does what they need to survive, so he doesn't judge; it's not an easy nor pretty thing, living in Pirate Bay when you ain't got the money to leave it when you want to. Sometimes you have to become someone that eats so you're not eaten.
Eonan just didn't want to do that- to become that.
Their sibling was different. Eorac was harsher, it knew what it wanted, and they took it without remorse. Eorac was the type of guy you didn't want on your side, but wanted less on the other.
If Eonan's weapons was his wit and charm, Eorac's was it's actual weapons.
But they knew their sibling cared for him, in it's weird way. In it's careful and meticulous planing of their day or in it's tearing down of Eonan's fighting until it was perfect or in the almost soft way it would put their hand over his shoulder and tell the room "This is my brother. Behave yourselves around them".
So even when Eorac was like this, angry and scared and aggressive, because something went wrong, and they refuse to talk about it, even though they really fucking should- Eonan takes a deep breath, because he knows that his sibling loves them and doesn't mean it.
"Dude, calm down, it's fine. We'll figure it out like we always do" they say, keeping their hands where Eorac can see them and their voice low and with a slight amount of persuasive charm, "just tell me what's wrong."
"Stop that." Eorac says harshly, "Your fucking tricks don't work on me, I know what you're doing."
It bounces it's leg, ready to snap and attack if they sense anything bad is coming. Even just sitting in their own bed, Eorac looks so on edge and out of place that it makes Eonan's heart ache.
"Fine." They say, propping themselves against the door, "You don't want tricks? That's fine."
Eonan takes a deep breath. Again. Because what else is he supposed to do? They've played this game before.
"I won't fucking move until you stop acting like a prick and tell me what's going on."
"Why do you want to know? You think you can help me?" There's bitterness in Eorac's voice, it drips with sarcasm, "You can't even help yourself. Go back to your fucking music and your dope and leave me alone."
They hate when this happens. They hate that they have to stand there and listen to the person that's literally the definition of a "self-destructive streak" talk about his problems like it knows anything about it.
He hates that it would go there in the first place.
"Stop acting like a child." His voice is calculated, slow, but not angry, because Eonan knows that if he gets angry, it's gonna be worse "If you don't want help, then stop brooding. You're putting yourself in a situation that you don't need to."
Their voice wavers, just a bit, because he's an emotional person, Matra dammit, and they just want Eorac to be fine for once in their life.
"Let me help. I want to help" the please is silent "as your backup if nothing else."
It's kinda weird, to see the face that is the same as yours and somehow so different look at you with such wild eyes. So angry, so sad - so Eorac.
For what it's worth, Eonan can see the second that the sadness almost won, when Eorac's eyebrows twitched just a little and it's lips pressed into a thin line. The second that it almost admitted that they could be helped, if it let them. The second that they almost got his sibling to listen to him.
Alas, it was only for a second.
"Fuck you" it spits, "Get out of my way, I need to do this alone"
Eorac gets up from the bed, grabs it's dagger from the nightstand, and makes it's way to the door with heavy steps.
"I said I won't move until you tell me what's going on." Eonan, now also standing to their full height and slightly taller than their twin (Eorac has terrible posture), keeping his back to the door. "I meant it."
"Move. Now" Eorac it's not joking, they both know it. "I won't tell you twice"
Eonan fucking hates this dance, but he dances anyway.
"No."
Eorac is much stronger than Eonan, always was. When they were younger, Eorac always won every single game or fight that depended on it. But Eonan was faster, no one could ever catch up to him, not even his sibling.
When they fought, really fought, the outcome was always decided within the first seconds: was this going to be a fight that relied on strength and endurance or a fight that relied on dexterity and strategy?
This one was no different, but Eonan had the disadvantage: he couldn't move away from the door, if they did that Eorac was gone.
So when Eorac punched their face, and all they could do was put his arms up to protect it, both knew who won it this time.
Well, at least he would get a good hit in.
Using his left hand to quickly grab Eorac's fist and twist it, Eonan used his right elbow and hit their sibling's jaw.
Eorac grunted and stumbled back, hand holding the side of it's face.
When it looked up, their eyes were simmering with anger - and pride, if you knew how to look for it.
"You're gonna regret that."
(Yeah, yeah, I know) he thought as he saw their sibling's fighting stance (I already do).
Next thing they knew, their stomach exploded with pain. Doubling over from his sibling's hit, Eonan couldn't protect himself from the following punch in the face, that knocked them to the ground, conjuring that familiar metallic taste of blood.
Next was a brutal kick in their left leg, that made him curl into a fetal position - to protect himself or to avoid making their sibling see his pained expression, Eonan couldn't tell you.
Eorac kneeled next to their brother's face, grabbing it carefully - or as carefully as it could - making Eonan look into their eyes.
"I-" it swallowed, as if searching for the right words: 'I'm sorry', 'I told you so' or 'Why do you have to be so fucking stubborn all the time?'
Maybe a mix of all of them, or maybe none.
"I'll buy you a drink when I get back." Then they were gone.
Eonan just laid there, blood pouring from his nose and staining the already dirty floor of the bedroom. Their childhood bedroom, that both he and Eorac spend so much time and money trying to get. So much effort to turn that ugly and cold attic into a place you can live, so many years to get it furnished and make it so that even though it was small, it was theirs and theirs alone, and they shouldn't be fucking fighting in it.
He laid there, and he fucking cried, because they were tired and sore and pissed and no one was around to judge him.
They cried until their chest hurt and the tears began to die in his throat, because sometimes you have got to just let it all out, or you are going to let it consume you until there's nothing left (like Eorac is doin-).
No. Stop it. He is not going there. Not today.
Eonan gets up, finally, and looks at himself in the small cracked mirror they leave above the piano. They look disheveled, sure: his eyeliner is running through his face, a bit of dried blood under their nose and a bruise on the cheek that will definitely turn purple soon; but nothing that washing their face and a little make-up won't fix.
So they do that.
They go to the sink on the floor below, being careful and not letting any of the workers see him before they're clean. The cold water on their face is a blessing, and as he rubs and gets the dried blood out, they began to feel better. They run his now cold hands over the bruises on their stomach and over their scalp, massaging it to try to avoid getting a headache because of the heat of the Bay.
He is getting tired of the braids, maybe he could let their natural hair down for a while (Eorac would be pissed, people can only tell us apart because of the hair difference), the thought delights them.
They are smiling at themselves, thinking of all the ways he could impersonate and annoy his sibling, when a knock came from the door.
"Eonan? You there?" Michaia's voice sounded worried, "I saw the Shadows leave a while back, and you didn't come down."
"I'm fine!" He says quickly, "Be out in just a bit!" They apply their eyeliner messily, - it's part of the charm - then he opens the door with a smile.
"How's the worst hooker in the bay doing today?"
"Better than the third rate prostitute standing in front of me, that's for sure." Michaia says, with mischievous tone in their voice but with worry in their (for now) golden eyes. "You guys had a fight?"
"Yeah, but don't worry about it" Eonan says, cheery and warm all over; there's no use lying to them, and he knows it, but he can at least sooth their worries "Eorac's gonna buy me a drink."
Michaia shifts into a muscular and tall orc, and looks down at him with a lifted eyebrow.
"It's cool. We handled it." His tone it's now quieter, restless, it's a warning, much like their sibling's, that he's begging to avoid this conversation.
Luckily, Michaia doesn't push, they almost never do. Instead, they turn themselves into a small halfling girl and say:
"Let's get you two drinks then, and put it on it's tab."
Eonan smiles, and follows them to the bar on the first floor.
If Eorac comes back 6 hours later, smelling of blood and gunpowder, neither of them mentions it. They also wouldn't mention if Eorac slept against it's brother's back that night, or even if Eonan woke up that morning with a bottle of a very good rum beside his bed.