Chapter Text
To say he didn’t enjoy TNT-induced chaos would be a lie.
But to say he wasn’t even remotely worried would also be a lie.
Etho stood among the vegetal destruction that was his and Tango’s gaming district in progress, letting his wing tips scrape the ashy stone. They’d used a few stacks of TNT to blow out the first layer of the island — for efficiency’s sake on Etho’s end, while Tango’s eyes lit up like red shroomlights with every boom. Etho had simply chuckled as Tango cheered and clapped; luckily, their iron bar “safety platform” was far enough from the destruction to not blow out their eardrums.
“The whole time we’re doing this I’m just giggling uncontrollably, just the anticipation of what’s gonna happen,” Tango was saying as he balanced on their safety platform, bouncing up and down with an armful of TNT. The tips of his hair were singed — when were they not? — and there were smudges of ash on his red sleeves, but he didn’t seem to mind at all. After all, he was the resident TNT user — a Boomer through and through. <Tango blew up> was as common a death message as <Grian experienced kinetic energy>.
And Etho somewhat understood why Tango found this sonic destruction enticing. With their next phase of explosions, neither of them hesitated to take a nose-dive into the flying TNT wave. There was an art, a beauty to the adrenaline rushing through his wings as he soared over the exploding area, watching the stone and granite disappear before his eyes. “Oh, it’s so loud!” he screeched as a TNT exploded a bit too close for comfort. He flapped his wings and flew upwards to land on a nearby jungle tree. One fly-through was enough for him; there was now ash on his face and wings, and his ears were already ringing.
But Tango was a pyromaniac to a level Etho couldn’t comprehend. He soared right through blinking TNT, swooping into exploding territory with a loud “whoooo!” as his red and grey wings scraped ignited TNT. It was as if explosions were Tango’s music; he was drawn towards explosives the way Etho was drawn towards instruments.
He wouldn’t tell Tango — or anyone, really — but he never felt truly comfortable around TNT. This was Tango’s stage, this explosive mess of rock and ash flying through the air, the loud noises, the destruction and chaos and the smell of burnt sand and gunpowder. But the booms always made Etho flinch, and the ringing it left in his ears always kept him tense and jittery until it subsided.
Etho wasn’t sure what he was so worried about, was it worried, or scared? Or both? Loud noises weren’t his favourite sound in the world, but it wasn’t like they could genuinely hurt him, not severely at least. But it didn’t matter why he was all jumpy around TNT; he swallowed the tickling worries like cough syrup, trying to keep the spark of mischief lit in his eyes through each boom. He was Etho, he was brooding, bubbling, unpredictable chaos. He was supposed to enjoy this explosive mischief, so he covered his ears and laughed along with Tango. Just pretend it’s percussion. Tango’s laugh is the brass.
Thankfully, Tango agreed to mine out the rest of the area after three layers of TNT explosions. The two had spent an hour mining the same side of the crater, but Etho eventually flew to the other side to mine out the left wall. He needed the space, the alone grinding time with his music, and Tango didn’t seem to mind.
Etho had decided to listen to Beethoven that day. Beethoven, who went deaf yet composed one of his greatest symphonies — Symphony 9, with Ode to Joy — without hearing a single note. What was a musician without their hearing? How’d he do it? Beethoven had a hearing machine — a concave resonator, Etho had built it once for fun to see how it worked — but that was far from the same to truly hearing and experiencing music. Schumann couldn’t play the piano for the latter half of his life, but at least he could hear others play. He let himself get lost in these ponderings as he continued chipping away at his side of the crater.
A few hours later, Etho felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to see Tango leaning on his pick, his other hand fiddling with his sleeve. “Can I ask you something?” Tango asked.
“... sure,” Etho said, glancing to the side, slightly taken aback by Tango’s sudden presence. He quickly pulled out his right earbud to let Tango know he was listening, but kept the music running from his communicator.
Tango crossed his arms with a small huff, sending a few flakes of ash Etho’s way. “Why don’t you like using TNT?”
What?
Etho could only blink at Tango for a few moments. Why don’t I use TNT? “It’s not that I don’t like it. I just… don’t have a lot of use for it, I guess,” he answered hesitantly, shifting on his feet. That was… random. “Besides for clearing out large spaces, which I haven’t needed to do. Until now.”
Tango frowned. “Farms? Pranks? Explodey in your face fun projects and games?”
“I…” Etho tugged at his fingerless gloves, unsure of how to answer. He didn’t like this question, but there was no getting out of this situation. “I’ve made TNT-based farms before. They’re a bit… loud. Since I usually work while they run.”
“Oh,” Tango’s eyebrows flew up out of confusion, but Etho could see the sparks in his eyes from just thinking about TNT. “The explodey bits are the fun part, but if you enjoy your peace and quiet I get that.”
“Yeah,” Etho nodded slowly. Trying to mask his awkwardness, he attempted, “Why ask? Recruiting more Boomers? ‘Cause I’m more of a Millenial.” He cringed at his own joke, but at least I lightened the mood. Somewhat.
“No, no I just,” Tango broke composure, laughing slightly at the corny joke. “You didn’t seem that excited with all the TNT going boom boom everywhere and—” Etho dodged one of Tango’s flailing arms. “— you love chaos, you love crazy new contraptions and all that happy fun stuff so it just surprised me that you weren’t excited by TNT.”
“I guess…” Etho coughed. He shifted on his feet for a moment before answering, “Yeah, I like it occasionally, yeah. It can get overwhelming... I guess.”
“I see,” Tango stepped back, hoisting his pick onto his shoulder. Etho breathed a soft sigh of relief, turning his right earbud over between his fingers, but Tango didn’t seem to hear. “Well… thanks. For answering.”
Etho chuckled awkwardly, turning back to the wall he was chipping away at and continued humming. “You’re welcome,” he sang, before slipping his earbud back in and losing himself in another Beethoven symphony.