If you're up for it for the prompt, anything between the "evil" brothers? Maybe right after or during the evil beesuma dying arc
EB is dying. EX would know that even if he weren't keeping tabs on that kind of thing. See, he's not the most observant when it comes to "friendships" or whatever. He doesn't really care for feelsy things like that, and even if he did, EB isn't his friend. They're brothers. It's different. EX keeps tabs on him -- literal tabs, in the odd little computer system that makes him tick. It was hard not to. EB, when he first spawned in, had echos of 'newer sleeker model', like someone took EX back to the drawing board and made a 2.0, and his jealousy had mandated keeping an eye on the upstart. But see, even if he wasn't keeping an active eye over his shoulder, it was obvious. Showing up less for his stupid Colosseum shenanigans, which EX only noticed, because he attended half of those stupid events -- anything to pass his infinite time. There were the whispers as well. Oh, EX thrived on whispers, and the Colosseum was a-- a place with a lot of those. A whisper house. A sewing circle. And with whispers came fear, smoke and fire, and well...
:ꙮ: Fear was a cold glass of water to him, which was really saying something, given he couldn't drink. But there were some metaphors he could deeply empathize with, even when he prided his lack of empathy normally. There was really no other way to describe it -- a cold glass of water in hels. :ꙮ:
That was the other thing that tipped him off to EB's imminent demise, really. EB was scared. It was a dull kind of fear. It wasn't the bright cool glass of brutal, visceral terror. Nor was it the smooth, long pour of the existentially horrific. EB wasn't grappling with his mortality like a man trying to squeeze water from desert stone. His was the dull, lukewarm sip of forgetting. Forgetting himself. Pride, oh picky picky pride. He hated how weak he was becoming, feared what it would do to his image, his legacy.
:ꙮ: It was a stupid thing to be scared of. No one would remember how weak he was. They wouldn't remember him at all. :ꙮ:
Maybe that was why EX showed up that day, after so long sitting in silence, keeping a few tabs open, and generally not caring. Because he didn't care. They weren't friends. EX didn't do friends. They got too upset over stupid things like respawns and lost diamonds and habitual lying. As far as he knew, EB didn't do the whole 'friend' thing either. It was all hero worship, acolytes, and weird, meathead gladiator comraderie. But not friends. So, EX didn't show up because he cared about EB. Maybe it was because he was affronted -- insulted by just how stupid his brother's fears had turned out. He'd expected more. Expected better. Instead all he got was--
"Champion of hels Evil Beesuma!" EX declared as he wavered into being in EB's room. "Are you... Sulking? How sad."
EB, who was laying rather miserably in his bed at the bottom of the world :ꙮ: or the bottom of the cells, anyway :ꙮ: buzzed out a sound that could be a groan, and pulled blankets over his head as if to hide. EX put his hands on his sides, affronted. Galled.
"Are you having a laugh? Get up!"
EB didn't respond. Realistically, he probably couldn't hear what EX was saying, what with that whole audio-processing-strangeness he had going on. EX had offered to fix it multiple times, but for some reason EB just wouldn't let him strap him to a table and pick at the components. Which was its own insult, in all honesty. If EX wanted to kill someone, he wouldn't do it while frustrating himself over the stupid redstone components in someone's artificial voice box.
Still, EB could tell who was speaking, even if he couldn't hear the words precisely. EX, not to be ignored :ꙮ: because he was here for the stupid overgrown buzzer, and he would not be stopped with simple stubbornness -- he was made first, gods damn it, and he was made stubborner :ꙮ: turned to one of the small mechanical bees resting on the nearby wall. It watched him, a passive camera to its owner, and EX approximated a grin in its direction.
"You there! Tell that overglorified bucket of bolts that I'm not leaving 'til we've had a chat. And also that it's stupid and shameful he's hiding under blankets. We're robots aren't we? We don't even sleep! Get out of bed!"
This last bit was directed at EB, because EB would just watch back the recording, and it struck EX as a little ridiculous to pretend the stupid little drone was actually translating a message, instead of acting as a second pair of eyes. There was a long pause -- by mechanical standards anyway -- as EB processed the message. Instead of doing as he was told and climbing out of his deathbed, EB raised one lanky arm in a rude gesture, before curling up smaller beneath his blankets. Given he was one of the tallest people EX had ever had the displeasure of knowing, this still was not very small, nor an effective way to hide.
EX sighed, loud and exasperated. He tilted his head in the direction of the buzzer.
"You are coming with me," he stated, making intense and furious eye contact with the little bee-shaped camera. "I have planned a day for you, little brother. We haven't hung out in ages. I'm bored. And you're languishing. You have until I count to three to crawl out of that bed, before I make you."
It took a few seconds for the message to process, transfer, and be watched back. EB made a disgruntled buzz that was probably derisive laughter, if he ever bothered to turn around and make eye contact. EX smiled pleasantly at the buzzer on the wall. He loved it when people resisted -- even petty, token resistance. So few people did it these days. They were all mostly too scared of him.
EB wasn't scared of him.
:ꙮ: EB was frustratingly unafraid of anything, besides his petty image, which was still only a dull, tepid fear that mostly tasted stale at this point. :ꙮ:
"One," EX counted at the little camera, pausing the extra few seconds it would take for EB to react. He didn't.
"Two." He waited again. EB clenched fists in his blankets, and stubbornly refused to move.
"You're really going to make me say three?" EX chuckled, crossing his arms, honestly a little impressed by the audacity. "Really EB, this is a little pathetic."
EX made a show of putting a forefinger to his thumb and brandishing it at the buzzer camera, threatening to snap his fingers. When EB still didn't react, EX shrugged his shoulders and snapped. "Three."
The world sprawled out in front of EX in a way only he could understand, because his understanding of it was crafted in his image. The Sovereign of hels, Saint of Chaos, had stopped being a helsmet ages ago -- before his dearest brother was even a vice in that derp Xisuma's soul. He wasn't sure when, exactly, it happened. Nor did he know why. All he knew was one day he was much, much more powerful than even he had assumed he was. Powerful enough not just to change things, but to do whatever the hels he wanted. There were rules, but no limits.
:ꙮ: And Evil X said, You're wasting precious time, little bee. :ꙮ:
EB's bed snapped out of existence. His brother tumbled to the floor, buzzing bitterly, before flailing to his feet, eyes red with anger. EX laughed. He couldn't help himself. He laughed harder when EB took a wild swing at him, and the punch did a whole lot of nothing. He didn't even feel it, really -- he didn't feel most things, as he wasn't flesh and blood, but he didn't even feel the force of it. He was tangled up in the randomness of his own power, and that did amazing things. EB stomped a foot on the ground petulantly, undoubtedly buzzing a thousand profanities as he threw another useless punch. EX caught the swing, not because he needed to, but because it would make his next step easy. He grinned and snapped his fingers again.
:ꙮ: And Evil X said, You are coming with me whether you want to or not. :ꙮ:
The world twisted. Teleporting as a god was a lot kinder than teleporting using enderpearls. He didn't have quite the same amount of control :ꙮ: a Saint of chaos wouldn't :ꙮ: but the force of the teleport wouldn't break any bones, nor would he spawn any mites :ꙮ: though the idea of having an aftermath was very appealing. :ꙮ: They landed in the street, EX on his feet, EB tumbling once again to clatter to the cobblestones. EX gave a very un-Soverign-like giggle. He continued to laugh when EB got to his feet, still bristling with anger, and shouldered his way into EX's personal space. He didn't try to hit him again -- probably because he recognized the current futility -- but he glowered, and his voice was raw and snarling when he finally spoke.
"I don't want to play your stupid games, EX!"
"Games? Me?" EX said with far too much innocence, his tone undercut by hiccups of laughter. "I would never!"
"Take me home."
"You can spend the rest of your life in that stupid little cell," EX said, waving a hand dismissively. "Today you're coming with me! I even brought you to your favorite bar! Aren't I so thoughtful?"
It was thoughtful. EX was very gracious not to take offense when EB looked around with mute astonishment, watching the entry to Hels Kitchen like he expected it to vanish. EX had been known to cause hallucinations, but this certainly wasn't one of them. For one thing, he could never get little details like the individual cobblestones right. Or the different guarded looks on the dozens of people trying to live their lives. EX wiggled his fingers at one passer by who had a particularly horrified look on their face -- two people suddenly appearing in the street had that effect on people sometimes.
:ꙮ: Oh, and everyone here was afraid of him, and that was intoxicating too. It was a varied range, a sampling from 'healthy wariness of the unknown' to 'deep unshakeable knowledge of who EX was and what he'd been known to do' and it was simply amazing. He should show his face in public more often. :ꙮ:
Somewhere up the road, someone pulling a handcart cried out as their axle spontaneously splintered. EX's eyes narrowed with glee. He didn't bask in it though, choosing instead to grab one of EB's lanky arms and drag him inside Hels Kitchen. He was gratified when EB followed, and a little frustrated that he stumbled along so meekly. EB was supposed to be a fighter -- for far more than two punches worth. They used to beat the crap out of each other for the fun of it -- finally someone neither had to pull a punch for -- and EB did spend so many diamonds on Colosseum banners about how special he was. It was a little disappointing for him to just give up.
:ꙮ: A symptom of the coming end maybe. He just didn't have the energy. :ꙮ:
Something in EX's chest sparked. He knew it because of the swirl of steam that escaped at his joints as he walked. Redstone likes fired, trying to signal... Something. He felt it run to a receptor somewhere head-ward, where all the real fiddly wiring happened. It clicked at a driver he'd turned down ages ago, but never got around to uninstalling. It pinged so rarely, he tended to forget it was there.
EX shrugged off the odd little fizzle of redstone. He ushered EB to their favorite table in one of the back corners, where it was easier to people-watch. The ghast behind the counter, one of the rare few that bothered to mingle nonviolently with the various hels denizens, narrowed blazing eyes at them before quietly preparing their regular orders. EB and EX were inorganic. They didn't eat or drink. They could barely feel. But EX ran hot, even for hels. Even nether-grown woods scorched at his touch, and gravels and sands turned to glass when he stood still too long. So, much like water in a desert, he liked the sensation of cooling. Of watching liquids turn to steam on the brutal articulations of his joints, his fingers and wrists. EB had never really seen the appeal. Instead, he tended to play act as a person -- one of those stupid, learned social skills that came from living around gladiators, like emotions and hand gestures. The ghast set down a tall glass of colored water in front of EX, and a long-handled mug for EB; their respective play things. EX immediately tipped his across his palm, watching the water boil as it ran through the iron of his hand. He couldn't feel it, but he imagined he could feel the bubble and sizzle kicking against the delicate mechanics. It was fun to watch. EB pushed his cup to the center of the table and crossed his arms to sulk.
"Oh, lighten up EB," EX glowered, finally allowing himself some petty annoyance. EB looked pointedly away from him. EX was used to this kind of silent treatment when his brother was sulking. Instead of speaking again, he projected words onto the table just within EB's sightline, letters encoded in numbers, so EB would have to puzzle them out before he could read.
EB was good at puzzles.
"Stop sulking," the message read. "You love people watching."
EB tilted his head, an implicit eye-roll, his shoulders hunching against his neck defensively. It was a very useless, human sort of gesture -- body language neither of them needed. EB really was spending too much time around the rabble. Of course, EX could also use organic body language. He was quite good at it, in fact. But his was intentional, chosen to cross barriers, and generally add to his unsettling nature. None of this instinctive, reflexive accommodation of the wider world.
:ꙮ: For someone with so much pride, he really had lowered himself for that stupid Colosseum. Oh well. Whatever makes him happy. :ꙮ:
:ꙮ: Except clearly EB wasn't happy. :ꙮ:
On the other side of the bar, someone's chair creaked as a wobbly leg finally gave up the ghost and snapped. They fell with a startled curse, flailing so hard their drink splattered across another patron. Raised voices filled the little room. EX rubbed his hands together and glanced at his brother gleefully. Another projection of encoded words danced across the table.
"Bar fight?"
"I'm not getting into a bar fight," EB groused back, his projection lighting the table in ruddy gold just below EX's. It was a complex encoding that EX had to run through a few translators to read, but the sulking had stopped at least.
"Who said you had to get into a bar fight?"
"It was implied."
"You love bar fights!"
"I also love peace and quiet."
"There's no pleasing some people," EX sighed airily, speaking his words aloud this time. He had to stifle his grin when EB glared in his direction. EX made eye contact with him this time and said gleefully, "If you don't want to miss my lovely conversation, you have to stop sulking."
"Conversation with you isn't lovely," EB groused, crossing all four arms in a complex X over his chest. It was a hypnotic movement, aided by the patterns of black and gold across his arms and chest. "You're a bear trap waiting to happen."
"I make life interesting!" EX argued, insulted.
As if on cue, the pair of arguing patrons across the bar finally burst into violence. They exchanged a few blows, before one knocked the other into a third sitting patron. This one was a knight, if the cloak and armor was any indication. She towered over the pair of brawlers, cracking knuckles before joining. The ghast at the bar let out a wheezing, defeated sigh as another chair broke in the scuffle.
"You want to put diamonds on the winner?" EX asked conversationally, resting what passed for his mechanical chin on his interlocked fingers.
EB's message was blatant and unencoded, and also projected in all capital letters on the table in front of EX. "NO."
"You really are no fun today," EX sighed. "My money's on the one with a knife."
None of the now four brawlers -- they'd swept up another person in the scuffle -- had knives on their person when the fight started. However, due to a rather intriguing turn of events involving a thrown glass, a drawer of cutlery on the far side of the room, and the principles of gravity and inertia, a rather intimidating looking cleaver had gone clattering onto the floor at the brawlers' feet. Someone was bound to pick it up--
:ꙮ: Ah, the knight. That did make the most logical sense. How boring. :ꙮ:
Someone in the brawling mess realized what had just entered their little arena, and a shock of fear like ice water poured itself down EX's spine. He let out a dreamy sigh.
"You should join them," EX smiled. "You need to blow off some steam."
EB's head tilted, another exaggerated eye roll. For all his disdain though, he did manage to slip a hand forward and grab up his mug. Finally he was loosening up. EX celebrated the victory by taking his own cup and pouring a small amount of water on the back of his hand, revelling in how it beaded right before it shuttered apart. Chaos to order to chaos again.
"I'm dying, EX," EB told him plaintively, signing to accentuate his words -- another quirk for organic life forms. They couldn't project an encoded conversation onto their own face, or a nearby countertop.
"So? You're also made of netherite and steel," EX responded, not bothering to encode his messages. He had his brother's attention. "You think any of those drunk idiots can do more than break a hand on you?"
"That's not what I-- I'm not fighting right now."
"Dying means you're not allowed to have any fun anymore?" EX chuckled. "Glad I'm not dying."
"Dying means I don't want to waste what's left of my time stroking your ego, EX!"
"My ego?" EX shouted out loud, because honestly, he was baffled. "What about this is stroking my ego?"
"Like you sitting here revelling in your gods-forsaken chaos isn't just a power trip for you," EB said meanly, the lights of his eyes narrowing to thin, judgemental slits. "Like dragging me along isn't just some--!"
"Oh my sweet baby brother," EX crooned patronizingly, because really, sometimes EB was incredibly thick, "I don't get power trips from--" EX felt, with the intuition of one deeply tied to his domain, the shifting of something high above in the hels ceiling, lava making it's way through new tubes. "-- oh you know. Mundane bad luck. I get it from fear."
Again, as if the Universe were responding to his whims, he felt the cool refreshment of nearby terror. Someone in the bar fight had been cut. It wasn't fatal, but wounds didn't need to be fatal to instill a healthy fear of death in people.
"And what of my fears are you preying off of, then?" EB demanded, wings buzzing in an angry drone.
"None, that's the whole point," EX said conversationally, trying his best to mimic what he would call a concerned tone and, admittedly, not quite getting there. "You're dying, EB. You're not frightened at all! That's bad. Means you've got nothing you're scared to lose! Aren't there people you're scared to leave behind? Unfinished business? Gods and Saints EB, aren't you at least scared they won't make your statue in the hall pretty enough?"
"So that's what all this is about?" EB snarled. "I'm not scared enough to suit your selfish tastes?!"
"My tastes-- you idiot. My tastes don't matter," EX gave a baffled laugh. "I'm not going to remember this!"
EB buzzed an angry drone, but didn't project any more words forward. His fists, tangled in the cross of his arms, knotted into fists.
"So?"
"So," EX lead on, because really, when had his brother gotten this stupid, "I can't be selfish, now can I? It's not like I'm taking you to your favorite shithole and instigating your favorite past time for me, now am I? I won't even remember I was here, let alone who I was with, or why I was doing it."
It was EX's turn to cross his arms, leaning his creaking weight against the tabletop, and listening to the quiet scorch of his own immense heat against wood.
"I don't give two shits about your fear either, except that you have an unhealthy lack. You have to like living to fear dying, EB. I'm just reminding you of what you like. But, fine, spend your last few weeks alone and miserable. Maybe I'll get a flash of terror from you during your last stupid Colosseum fight. I'm sure you'll get some existential fear that the moron who runs it after you is going to cock something up."
The two brothers sat in damning silence, so much so, EX had to replay his recording of the conversation to make sure EB had actually heard-seen-read him speaking. The bar fight was breaking apart. The knight had won, surprising no one. One of the combatants was missing a finger -- via the nature of meat cleavers and dismemberment. Outside, an upturned tile in the road caused an errand boy to trip and spill a bag full of mail across the street, where a very rare hels breeze scattered it up the road.
EB said, "I didn't think you cared."
"I don't," EX answered pleasantly.
"Then why bother?"
:ꙮ: Oh, that was certainly a good question. There was probably an answer somewhere. It was nagging at him presently, like a missing tooth. He ran his metaphorical tongue across the gap for a considerable amount of time. :ꙮ:
"Because you're the only brother I've got," EX finally settled on. It was wrong. The right answer was still missing, and that was the crux of it. EB was reminding him of a hole in him somewhere. Another spark traveled up to that dampened module in the depths of his coding, trying to entice him to emotion. EX took the time to make sure the module was as off as it could get without him opening up his chassis and ripping wires out. It was.
"Didn't think you cared much about us being brothers," EB said guardedly.
"Not really," EX admitted. "But I do so hate it when people take things away from me."
"Glad I rank about the same as a stolen book to you."
"I don't read."
"Stolen diamonds then."
"Don't flatter yourself."
EB actually snorted a laugh at that. He toyed with the mug in his hands, then brought it to the screen of his face as if to mime a drink. EX couldn't stop a disgusted noise in what passed as his throat.
"I hate it when you do that."
"Do what?"
"Play people," EX scowled. "It's beneath you."
EB made intense eye contact with EX, moved his shoulders in an exaggeratedly faked breath in, and then brought his cup up to his mouth as if to drink. He even had the nerve to make slurping and swallowing noises.
"You're disgusting."
"And you're a bastard," EB said with something that could be construed as pleasantness. "Can we leave?"
"Still dead set on sulking in your room?"
"No," EB admitted begrudgingly. "But if today is really for me... I... Want to go somewhere else."
EX shrugged, dropped a diamond on the table, and stood. "Lead the way then."
EB watched him warily. EX affected an innocent expression that he was sure only made him look more untrustworthy. Outside, whatever new lava flow was snaking through the ceiling found a crack and started dripping. Some helsmet in the square was the first shrieking recipient of a glob of cooling lava to the shoulder. If EX stood here much longer, the light, scalding rain would turn into a stream that some civil servant would have to repair. EB sighed, stood, and led the way out of Hels Kitchen and into the street.
What followed was probably montage-worthy. EX would be tempted to cut up the recording of the day and put it to music to rewatch later, but he knew from implicit experience that, when EB went back to the universe, it would all just be lonely reels of himself reacting to someone mysteriously scrubbed from his memory banks. So he didn't bother, and instead forced himself to live as in the moment as possible.
:ꙮ: It was admittedly difficult, given the background noise he was constantly attuned to. Chaotic, small misfortunes happened; small waves and spikes of fear snuffed out his thoughts in the wake of cooling ecstasy. It was hard living as a person while collecting praise and worship. EB wouldn't be grateful for his efforts, but he should be. :ꙮ:
They went first to the main square, where some church had organized live music. EX and EB found a place in the crowd to stand and watch, and EX tried not to revel in the broken strings and discordant notes inspired by his presence. They wandered through one of the hels markets, their personal little shopping districts, and whenever EB found something that caught his eye, EX would annoy him by taking it :ꙮ: He didn't pay for things. The Sovereign of hels didn't pay unless he wanted to. :ꙮ: on EB's behalf. A new fur-lined cloak, honey-colored and silken, made its way into an ender chest for EB, alongside four new ornamental daggers, some tools for droid repair, a stack of redstone, and a small, blue, blown-glass spider, because EB liked that sort of thing. He didn't show EB the last gift -- opting instead to slip it into the ender chest when EB distractedly closed it. He would find it later. Probably.
The highlight of the whole day for EX was when, while walking down one of the side streets, a small gang of thugs tried to jump them. EB managed to passingly ask EX show restraint before the pair of them dealt with the thugs. EX constrained himself to fits of laughter, broken bones and proximity burns. He felt each individual moment the thugs realized they had attacked the wrong people. Every fearful misgiving, every moment of terror, every adrenaline-fueled stumble washed over EX like heady relief, and it was so very hard not to chase it. To not go flying off through hels, raining death and misfortune on everything he could see, and revel in the feeling of all that fear directed at him.
He would have done it, really. Started walking down the street, carding through his inventory, bliss and wonder a physical force in his limbs, cold water. Then EB's gentle worry, a lukewarm splash of almost-fear, ran down the back of his neck.
:ꙮ: Scared of being left alone :ꙮ:
EX restrained himself. The brothers continued through hels. They circled the squares, pointed out people and buildings to each other. They talked. They laughed. They lived. It was... Good. Good, and familiar in the way the path of a tongue across a missing tooth was familiar. He used to do this with someone else. Walk. Talk. Exist. Pretend to be human, mortal, and normal. EX might ache over it if he were capable. Another spark pulsed up to that unused module, trying to sting him with sensation. It was a small thing, easy to ignore. In the grand scheme of things, it was nothing. He wished EB would get that -- how small these stupid emotions were to the inorganic. He would get it someday, probably. Learn the perspective that came from outlasting everything. Those stupid, small, human habits he picked up from his gladiators would be nothing to him once a few generations of them had passed--
:ꙮ: EB was dying. :ꙮ:
:ꙮ: He would never learn that perspective. :ꙮ:
A flashing light made itself known in EX's vision. EB was asking him why he'd stopped walking. EX looked down at his feet, a bit surprised by his own lack of movement. He wasn't supposed to have unwanted, unwarranted emotional reactions.
:ꙮ: He'd turned that module down to the lowest setting. :ꙮ:
Two streets away, a crack formed in the cobblestones that went all the way up the lane. A lava tube beneath the road, long empty, had spontaneously decided to become structurally unsound. Someone would have to shore it up, or risk the ground opening up and swallowing people whole. The crack zig-zagged beneath someone's boot heel, and their startlement was a sip of cool water down a throat EX didn't have to swallow with.
"I think we've indulged you enough today," EX said, resuming his stride. "Follow me."
Clearly puzzled, but intrigued, EB followed behind EX. EX's mind was blissfully empty as he walked. He could turn that module off too -- the one that controlled conscious thought in solid words. It reduced his world to urges and impulses, and he was following a strong one now. Strong enough that he didn't stray from the memorized, programmed path he set his feet on, a true automaton following his own orders.
The First Church of hels loomed, bright and beautiful. EB hesitated when EX crossed the threshold, but followed when he realized he was being left behind. A tile fell from the high ceiling as the brothers passed beneath it. Only the quick reflexes of a nearby priest stopped the tile from cracking apart one of the named stones on the ground. The priest howled against the pain of a likely-broken arm, and EB flashed EX a judgmental glare. EX didn't bother feeling insulted. For one thing, he couldn't be insulted while those specific processes were still rebooting. For another, it was perhaps his fault that the random calamities happened, but it wasn't like he could control them or turn them off.
At length, the programmed path beneath EX's ran out, leaving him in an overly decorated hall, smothered in the migraine-inducing blue tones of the stained glass windows. While EX restarted his more coherent thinking processes :ꙮ: and nudged the strange little module that kept insisting on making him feel things he didn't want to :ꙮ: EB stood statue-like beside him, examining the monument EX brought them to. It was simple, small and garden-like; a single stone bench surrounded by beautifully curated potted plants, beneath a flowing ewer of ink. The little stone bench has EB's name carved artfully across the top in a gaudy cursive script, tight but legible -- and pretty, if you liked that sort of thing. It was a good memorial, or at least EX thought it was. He wasn't a builder, so he couldn't take much credit for its construction, besides the intention, and the fear of gods he put into the designer.
EB stared at the little monument with the statue-like stillness of a proper inorganic.
"This is for me," EX projected into the silence, his words dissonant and red against the dark tiled floor. "That selfishness you were so scared of."
EB didn't respond. EX didn't really expect him to. He filled the silence. He was good at that.
"I was trying to figure out how best to remember someone, given my... Whims," EX explained casually. He crossed his arms and affected a critical air, as though he hadn't approved every single chisel stroke of this little build. "It couldn't be too big. I might decide to destroy it someday. In a church was best -- people take offense to my randomness here, and gods can, on some level, protect themselves. And it looks... Restful. And different. Interesting enough to grab my attention and make me read it."
EB was still incredibly silent. He could have been a tombstone, stark and hard and brutal and honest. He could have been a stone.
"Anyway," EX waved a dismissive hand, "figured this was the best chance of my coming to visit. Not that you'll care, being dead and all. You'll have to excuse me for not asking your opinion on the whole thing. I would appreciate one of those little bee drones of yours though. Really bring the whole piece together."
Something bumped into EX's hand, a small jolt that traveled up his arm. EX looked down, watched as EB slowly, hesitantly, interlocked his fingers with EX's. It was a pathetic, organic gesture. Neither of them were flesh and blood. They couldn't feel each other's touch. EX could have been holding anything: a broom handle, a sword hilt, anything. That odd little suppressed module jolted him again, deep and insistent, like someone had taken a sword to his non-existent guts and was stirring things around. He would really need to rip that out at some point. Even dulled, the sensation was unpleasant -- the caged bird of empathetic mourning fluttering around where it didn't belong.
:ꙮ: It doesn't matter. He will forget. There was no point in feeling anything about it. :ꙮ:
A soft, flickering, plaintive light lit the stones at EX's feet. A single line of text, simple. Plain. Stark.
"You're a good brother, EX."
That module kicked so hard, a long line of steam released itself down every one of EX's metal vertebrae. He squeezed EB's hand tightly in his, and said nothing.
Outside, the ceiling of hels split in two -- a great black crack in the sky straight to bedrock. Stones tumbled, damaging roofs and splintering storefronts.
It was a stroke of brilliant luck that no one was harmed.
"You deserve better," EX said, out loud, where EB with his face buried in his three extra hands couldn't hear. "But thanks."
