Chapter Text
This was torture in its' purest form.
How do people even manage to navigate situations like these? What is Clownpierce supposed to do? Confess how he feels? Grovel at Branzy's feet and beg him to put him out of his misery?
God, no way. What if Branzy doesn't feel the same? What Branzy has in brains, he lacks in bravery. The engineer might scurry away at the sight of Clownpierce possessing emotion, and that's the last thing Clownpierce wants right now. He doesn't want to make Branzy uncomfortable, especially not in that way.
But what else is there to do? Give him a gift? Flowers, perhaps? That's sweet, right? But also subtle enough to not be too much? Does Branzy even like flowers? Maybe Clownpierce should enhabit the role of a secret admirer.
...
That's cowardly, actually.
He's never really been in this position before, and it feels like there's this 'perfect balance' he's supposed to find — being close enough to feel happy, but not so close that it makes him all jittery and sweaty and gross. It's like there's some secret formula and Clownpierce hasn't figured it out yet.
Maybe he should just... talk to Branzy directly. See how things feel, and figure it out from there. It would be way simpler.
So, that's exactly what Clownpierce decided to do. He pushed his way through the crowded casino, weaving past groups of patrons and the constant hum of slot machines, heading straight for Branzy's workshop. God knows what Branzy was up to in there —probably buried under some mysteriously acquired pile of parts or tinkering with something, lost in his own world. Clownpierce couldn't help but feel a little nervous about what he was actually going to say when he got there. He wanted to shake himself by the shoulders.
He wasn't one to feel fear. It was useless, twitching and trembling beneath his skin like a parasite, unlike the ever-so-useful rage he has grown well acquainted with. Perhaps he should go with the 'bored' approach he usually crawls back to when feeling vulnerable, as if the person he's talking to isn't worth his time. But, then It might come across like he was abandoning his responsibilities just to pester Branzy, which definitely wasn't the message he wanted to send. Or worse, it could make Branzy feel like he was a second choice — like Clownpierce was only seeking him out because there was no one else around to terrorise.
Amidst his thinking, he already found himself staring at the door, eyes tracing over the wood's natural pattern. He scoffed at himself, why is he just standing here? He twisted the door handle open with more aggression than necessary.
The first thing he saw was Branzy sitting at his desk, back turned to him. His clothes were stained with redstone, some of it even got in his hair — showing up as a light pink near the ends. Then came a sharp jolt as the engineer registered his barging in, whipping his head around like a schoolchild caught doing something mortifying.
"...Clownpierce." Branzy said, staring at him with those wide purple eyes, his current project lay abandoned at his desk.
Clownpierce stood there for a long moment, remembering exactly why he never does anything without planning a script first.
"Branzycraft." He parroted, internally slapping himself upside the head for this stupidity. Another long silence followed that made him want to flee with his tail between his legs. "What are you doing."
"Um. I'm making a lamp!" Branzy said with a small chuckle, the one he did when he thought he was in trouble. Great work, Clownpierce. "My last one, like, exploded. It's a long story."
"And you didn't tell me?" Clownpierce said sorrowfully, before cleaning his throat. "Well, not that it would affect me, but I like knowing what goes on inside here."
"Oh, alright then."
...
Clownpierce let put a drawn out hum, stalling his response. A stroke of genius came upon him. What if he simply.. lied?
"Y'know, I haven't thought about it before, but now I'm interested. How does a lamp even function?" He said, knowing damn well he hasn't expressed interest in redstone a day in his life.
Branzy's eyes lit up at the opportunity to hear himself speak, "Well, it's simpler than you'd expect. It's simply completing an electrical socket, letting energy flow through the conducter and towards some light-emitting component, usually a light bulb or something—"
Clownpierce promptly tuned out everything Branzy was saying, focusing entirely on the engineer's silky white hair, the red and black swirls covering his arm, his gorgeous purple eyes, drawing him in like the cosmos. Any physical aspect of Branzy, really.
He wasn't sure when he'd gotten close enough to sit on Branzy's desk, when their conversation strayed away from redstone and towards whatever comes to their minds. Clownpierce almost felt enlightened. He'd never had a converation simply.. flow. He prided himself on always being a step ahead, yet there was a bliss in not thinking and simply saying.. his thoughts.
As the conversation fizzled out and a not-so-unpleasant silence engulfed the room, he found himself struck with genius.
"..My sister loved gardening, you know. Always had a green thumb." He said, like a liar. Kaboodle could probably make a sunflower wilt. "What do you think of flowers, Branzycraft?"
"You have a sister??" Branzy said, before his brain caught up with the rest of the sentence and continued. "Well, I suppose they're nice. Could never get them to stay alive, though."
"Ah, so just decoration then?" Clownpierce prompted, which got a nod as a reply.
"Mhm. Some greenery can really change a place, you know! It's a shame nobody is selling any decorational items, it really is an untapped market."
"I suppose you're right about that." Clownpierce mused, the cogs in his head turning. He looked at an imaginary watch on his wrist and prayed Branzy wouldn't notice in the darkness of this room. "Well, I have duties to attend to. I hope your lamp project goes well."
And then he scurried away just like that, now with a bout of motivation for arts and crafts. He was a warrior, how hard could it be?
---------------------
As it turns out, incredibly hard. Artists are warriors of their own, it seems. Time passed, the sun long having set. Hot glue burn after burn, failure after failure getting destroyed in the anger of not meeting his standards. At some point he had to leave the room and just pace around for a while. It took embarrassingly long, but the finished result was a neat little bouquet of various flowers in various colours of paper. Imitation of roses and alium and catmint wrapped around with a dark red ribbon. He stared at the fruits of his labour for a while, he couldn't help but be prideful from everything he does. He was a natural, clearly.
Now all that's left to do is give them to Branzy. Yay.
---------
He was shivering in his timbers, he was blushing like a schoolgirl. All at the mere thought of giving origami flowers to his coworker. How low he had fallen.
Here he was, standing in front of Branzy's door again. For a man his height, he sure feels towered over by an inanimate object. He can feel his tail beginning to inch and curl around his leg, the scales sliding across the material of his pants, which he quickly stopped with a sense of mortification. Now is not the time to cower. He's been rehearsing for a reason.
This time, he actually knocked, waiting for a 'come in!' before opening the door as if whatever's inside (Branzy) would bite him.
"Hello, Branzycraft." He said, hiding the faux bouquet behind his back after a split second of thought.
"Hey Clownpierce." The engineer replied with a small smile, seeming less like a deer in headlights now that he's been warned via knock before Clownpierce's arrival.
"I have something for you." He said. Had he cared for his dignity, he would've stopped there. However, his heart won him over. "And something to talk about. Unrelated to work." He felt his heart pounding against his ribs, his hands getting clammy beneath his velvet gloves. A shudder was running up him like a hoard of fire ants underneath his skin, but he managed to not let it show.
"Do you?" Branzy said, Clownpierce couldn't tell if it was a rhetorical question or not.
"I do, yeah." He replied, tentatively placing the flowers on the desk.
"It's just something I made in my free time, since I remembered our conversation." Clownpierce added on, acting casual whilst knowing damn well it took him hours.
"That is.. so sweet, Clown." Branzy said, picking the bouquet up like it can crumble in his hands and admiring it. "You said you wanted to talk about something, yeah?"
"Indeed." Clownpierce said, exhaling slowly. "I was wondering if you wanted to.. have dinner with me. Far away from this uncivilised server and somewhere actually nice."
"You don't have to accept though," He quickly added on, "Just be honest."
Branzy blinked at him, glancing down at the bouquet and back at him. A rosy tone began to spread over his sunkissed skin, and he chuckled nervously.
"I would like that, actually." He said, "When would we, um, plan that?"
"Any time would be fine, but perhaps next weekend?"
"..That would be nice."
"I'm glad." Clownpierce said, fighting not to squeal like a teenage girl. "I guess I'll see you then."
That's how the interaction ended, with the assassin speedwalking out and retrieving back to the unknown location of his base. He was ecstatic, basically bouncing around. He didn't know how to celebrate this moment, so he just paced around his room until the energy wore off, daydreaming about what would happen that very weekend.
-
Ashswag wasn't a very patient man, he's known this his whole life — it was a bad habit that followed him around like his very shadow, but this was getting utterly preposterous. He didn't know what he was expecting, but he at least figured they'd get into some weird situationship by now.
He must've overestimated the kind of loser Clownpierce was.
One month passed, fine, he's taking it slow. He figured that the assassin would be brushing off his feelings. Second month, this was getting ridiculous. And by the third month, he was wondering if the potion even worked to begin with. Did he get scammed? Clownpierce is basically feeling the emotional equivalent of coughing up bloody flowers, and yet he's doing nothing about it? This was foolish.
He practically cheered when he noticed Clownpierce enter Branzy's office with some shitty bouquet. Finally, this was getting somewhere. At this rate, he basically accepted his fate of never having parents. But now, things are finally looking less gloomy. Perhaps Clownpierce will man up after all.