Work Text:
Mumbo felt bile rushing up the length of his throat, slapping his palm over his lips and bending at the waist in a vain attempt to cease his vomiting. The sounds of the young man hurling in the background were blatantly ignored by his companion, Iskall, as the swede stared blankly at the wreckage of their project. Sunset flames danced tauntingly in his vision as the paper blackened and curled in on itself, effectively ruining work they'd spent weeks on and were to be turning in four hours from then.
"Oh my God," Mumbo whimpered, having turned back to the flames. His hand had drifted to the base of his throat, his other clutching onto his elbow in unneeded support. His dark burgundy eyes set wide in his sockets, distress reading loudly on all of his features. He swung out a hand, blindly feeling for Iskall's arm and latching onto it, falling into the other male's arms like a theatrical drama queen, complete with the back of his hand lain loosely upon his forehead. "What are we going to do, Iskall?" The brit's eyes flickered up to meet his. He was feeling absolutely gutted. There was no way in hell they could get everything redone in just four hours.
"Well," Iskall bumped Mumbo to his feet, boasting a shifted awkward face and deep brown's that wouldn't meet his as the mustached man sparkled with renewed ambition. "We could always go with plan B?"
And it slipped from his grasp yet again. He needed no further explanation--plan B was always the same plan, no matter what the cause may be. Though it usually went unsaid. If they needed a new plan, it was a straight jump to plan C, which could bend and twist for whatever they needed. Plan B? Not so much. Mumbo crossed his arms, darkening his face and practically hissing his response, "No." He internally hoped against all hope that the swede would give in and shut up about plan B. He really didn't need a full blown debate like last time the option had been brought up (and, thankfully, not carried through).
Iskall pouted. "That's cold, bro," he proclaimed. The redstone major screamed into his fist, mixing up an irritated, 'I-can't-believe-you're-such-a-dumbass' expression on his face.
"Not as cold as prison, Iskall!"
"Warmer than an F!"
Before the blazing inferno, Mumbo slumped to the ground, releasing a drawling groan. Yes, Iskall was one of his closest friends. He loved and cherished him every moment of his life, but at this moment he sobbed to whatever omnipotent god decided he would be stuck with the one man in his class who would have such a steely resolve when dealing with the literal dumpster fire that was their project. His fellow student jabbed a pointed finger in his direction, throwing his chin to the sky and slamming a palm against his puffed out chest theatrically. "To quote Joe Hills," he began. Mumbo rolled his eyes. "You could sooner divert a river from its course than deny my nature."
He turned his face up from its buried position in his knees, narrowing his eyes at the swede. "Didn't he say that and then immediately break his arm?" he deadpanned, opting to ignore the dwindling hellfire. The swede popped open his mouth in preparation for a defense, but didn't manage out any words before Mumbo recalled the matter at hand and shouted out, "Either way, we aren't murdering anyone! Especially not Mr. Void! He's way too nice!"
Iskall plopped down beside him, scooping up a loose stone and hauling it at the glowing ashes. "Alright! Let's murder someone else then, bro! That'll probably distract everyone and then we'll never have to tell anyone that our project burned because they'll be too busy with an omega murder investigation of doom!" He practically sparkled at the other man, fully enraptured by this little plot of his. Although the idea of getting off scot-free from the work was appealing, he stayed adamant in his refusal. No way he would kill anyone. But before he could get out his denial, Iskall continued. "C'mon! I really, really don't wanna re-do this work. I would rather rot in a jail cell!"
It felt easy to give into that pitiful look. And he did, letting out a deep sigh and deciding to entertain the idea. He leaned back, folding his arms behind his head. "What would we even do if we killed someone? We couldn't go back to school as murderers. And how would we even kill someone?" He flicked out a thin arm, waving it around above his body. "I've got noodle arms." He gestured to Iskall's arms, which were muscled, but shook idly. "You've got E.T. Between the two of us, we couldn't kill anyone."
"That's easy," Iskall smirked proudly, crossing his arms. Mumbo cocked an eyebrow with interest. "We hire False, blame her, hop on a train, change our names to Greg and Larry-I'm Greg, you're Larry-, and move to Nashville, Tennessee."
He spoke with such clarity, like it was a statement as obvious as any fact in the world despite the obscene hilarity of it. Mumbo produced a mildly disturbed smile. "The fuck, man? How much have you thought about this?" He laughed, knocking the other's shoulder. Whatever amount, it was clearly way too much to have a go-to plan for how to get away with first degree murder.
"You know how I would get super shaky and scream into a pillow while we were working at your house?"
"Yeah?"
"That many times."